


Echoes of Life and Death

by axxisr



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axxisr/pseuds/axxisr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he first got to Vancouver there were people that reminded him of Jacob. People that reminded him of Anderson. People that reminded him why he had chosen to take the job in the first place. There wasn't anybody that reminded him of her.</p><p>After the events of Eden Prime, Shepard finds himself on the run when he is wrongly blamed for Nihlus' death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invictus

**1725 HRS, May 10, 2183**

**Prothean Dig Site, Eden Prime**

 

Nightfall came early on the verdant garden world of Eden Prime. John Shepard dropped out of the _Normandy_ and caught the first tendrils of light from the low winter sun disappear behind the edges of the dig site. At least he imagined it to be winter, if the clouds of his breath were any indication. Come to think of it, he hadn't actually ever been this far away from Earth since Elysium.

Privately, it unnerved him. When you considered the level of policing, Alliance territory was nothing compared to Citadel space. Humans as a race could only do so much compared to the three Council races combined, and Shepard had no desire of becoming some mercenary's bounty or a terrorist's abductee.

"Shepard! No hostiles in the vicinity, but from what we saw on that video I doubt that will last."

The voice was hard to hear over the pullback roar of the engine as their ship ascended back into orbit. Kaidan seemed earnest, no doubt painfully so at times. But he was also yet another one of Anderson's people, which meant that at the end of the day he was an unknown. Actually that designation applied to just about everyone, as Shepard was the one that was curtly plucked from his comfy desk job in Vancouver to undertake this routine mission that wasn't actually a routine mission.

Jacob had teased him, saying that Shepard could now add secretary to his resume, but as long as he didn't have to listen to one more damned lecture from a superior officer that involved the words "Hero of Elysium" he could live with it. Thinking about that day _still_ made him sick. But the only thing worse than what really happened that day might be having to pretend that he was this brave leader for the rest of his life.

Becoming the first human Spectre was supposed to be an attractive proposition, he guessed. Either for the subversive power that came with answering to no law or government but the Council, or the zeal of righteousness that was sure to have any Alliance exemplar drooling with envy. At this point Shepard didn't care; he just wanted his old life back. That comm feed that was broadcasted to the ship before they landed was terrifying enough on its own.

Shepard sighed. One mission. One more assignment and he would tell Anderson and Nihlus that while it was a "great honor" to be considered for the special tactics group, it would be best—for humanity and for himself—if they chose someone else to parade around as the champion of human excellence. He, on the other hand, would simply settle for waking up in his own bed every morning, clearing his desk of the endless amount of paperwork, flirting with Olivia in Accounting, and enjoying a nice, hot shower at the end of every day.

Shepard looked to the young marine on his right and rolled his eyes. Jenkins was staring out over the cliff, transfixed by the expanse of green and rolling hills that was broken up only by the spear-like arcologies that jutted out above the horizon. Eden Prime was, in theory, supposed to be some emblem of humanity—to shine its progress outward to all species. If he was honest, under different circumstances it could've been impressive. But that wasn't reality anymore.

An explosion in this distance refocused Shepard's attention, and over the far ridge he saw one of the large communication towers set up by the workers collapse. This was reality. And Eden Prime, like himself, was not a beacon of hope. It was a facade. And it was crumbling.

"Corporal!" Shepard said.

Jenkins turned and fumbled a hasty salute.

"You seemed eager to get shot thirty minutes ago; now you're a romantic. What changed?"

The marine smirked under his visor but held his salute. "Nothing, sir."

"Then let's get moving."

 

* * *

 

Rubble surrounded them as he and Kaidan trudged through what had to be the ninth marsh they happened upon since leaving their youngest squad member behind. Jenkins' death was yet another reminder that whatever was going on here was way out of his depth. They were fighting _geth_ , a race that had isolated itself for hundreds of years. And if Nihlus' check-ins were to be believed, they were slaughtering most of this colony. Jenkins wasn't the first soldier to die under his command, but he'd better be the last.

The sun was lower now, casting spindly shadows over the large slabs of stone that littered his path. It made Shepard more jumpy than he already felt. As he stepped around a stone pillar, Shepard realized the dig site team clearly had no concept of logistics. Remains of their construction framed a single pathway through the camps, which had now narrowed uncomfortably. It was the perfect spot for an ambush, and suddenly feeling nervous didn't seem so ridiculous. A root crunched under his foot and Shepard raised his pistol, firing off a few shots at the local plant life blocking their way. It might've been a little over the top, but this planet was a nightmare and he wasn't going to take any more chances.

"If we're gonna meet Nihlus at the dig site, we should move faster." Kaidan looked at him. "You alright, Commander?"

"I—I'm fine, Alenko."

Kaidan frowned but said nothing further, and Shepard understood. If he looked even half as rattled as he felt, it must not have been encouraging.

"Just been a while since I've been out in the field," he said.

They reached the crest of the latest hill in time to see a marine vault backwards, firing on several Geth Recon Drones from her prone position. Two advancing Geth Troopers sent her scuttling for cover, and he motioned Kaidan to move into position. After they cleared the area of geth Shepard gave her armor a cursory examination. She was alright, and in retrospect probably could've handled those two on her own, but one look in her eyes told him she was running low on something that mattered more than men or shields.

Shepard wanted to say that things were going to be okay, but it was hard to sell her on something that he didn't even believe right now.

She said Ashley was her name, and while he thought he recognized her by the tint of her armor, he was sure of it when she spoke. This was the same woman that sent out the desperate video message the _Normandy_ received as they approached the planet. She was alone, and he was a man down, so it only seemed natural for her to join them.

More geth troopers blocked their way before the mix of heavy rock and dense foliage gave way to a wide expanse that could only be the remains of the primary dig site. A dozen floodlights enclosed the area, but there was no Prothean beacon to be seen. The turian had to have beaten him here and the fact that Nihlus wouldn't communicate a report comment on their mission objective going _missing_ struck him as very strange.

"I-I don't understand it," Ashley said. "The beacon _was_ here."

Shepard made a show of looking around the ruins, but couldn't find evidence that anyone had been here recently at all.

"Somebody must have moved it," she said.

Shepard frowned, already having an idea of who that might be.

Kaidan knelt down and brushed the empty dirt in the center of the area, then looked up at him. "Nihlus?"

"Who is—" Ashley started before a voice cut into their comms.

"Shepard. Slight change of plans," Nihlus said. "There's a small spaceport in the valley ahead. I'll wait for you there."

With that the communication cut out, leaving Shepard to fume. Having it out over an open channel would serve no purpose, but rest assured, once he caught up and faced Nihlus in person, they would be having a very different conversation. Joker was right it seemed: nothing about this assignment had felt right from the very beginning. This obviously wasn't a test of the stealth systems, and he doubted the sole reason the Spectre was here was to babysit him. He hadn't even seen Nihlus since they touched down. The beacon was at the center of it all, and right now it was probably in the possession of a turian that he trusted very little.

"There's a research camp just up over that ridge," Ashley said. "They might be able to tell us something about what happened here."

Shepard looked in the direction Ashley inclined, but the only thing visible over the terrain was smoke and more of those ivory spikes impaled with bodies.

"You really think anybody up there is still alive?" he said.

"Got any better ideas, Shepard?" Kaidan said and started toward the ramp.

Shepard gritted his teeth and nodded curtly. So Alenko's patience with his reluctance to lead this mission was starting to wear thin. It was understandable, but that didn't make it any less annoying. It was also something that had to be corrected sooner than later if they had any hope of making it off this planet alive.

As the camp came into view, the fires and destruction were more evident. Scrap metal was strewn everywhere, and whatever buildings weren't ablaze looked torn apart. The worst part might have been the spikes. The inhuman creations with the very real human bodies atop them suddenly whirred and began to lower. Shepard watched in horror as the spindle rods fully retracted and the bodies began to _move_.

"Oh God," Ashley said. "They're still alive."

By then his was weapon drawn, firing away at the zombie-like creatures purely on instinct. It couldn't have been anything else, because once they had fallen his brain still struggled to string together a coherent thought.

"Well now we know what the spikes are for," Kaidan said.

Shepard nodded and looked to Ashley, who had cautiously approached one of the corpses and gave its head a gentle kick.

"They're turning our own dead against us," Ashley murmured. She took a deep breath and examined the area. "Looks like you were right, Commander. There's nobody here."

Shepard was about to agree with her until something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was a security panel. It had been beaten up, sure, but it still looked functional, and it was plastered next to the door of one of the few housing units that was still left standing. It didn't look like much, but that unit was realistically the only place any survivors could have holed up and hoped to survive. He stepped over the charred remains of a door and led his team to the two buildings that remained untouched by the chaos. They entered the first unit cautiously, and found it dark but empty. Kaidan salvaged a few packs of medi-gel before joining Shepard and Ashley outside the second building.

"Careful, Shepard. There could be more of those things in there," Ashley said.

He held back a quip about these zombies evolving enough faculties to re-wire a security system. Half the time these damned things still gave him trouble and he was one degree away from being a qualified engineer. Yet another thing he could be doing instead of getting shot at.

After some fiddling, the panel acquiesced and the door creaked open, the mechanism straining against its weight. His squad stepped back and braced their weapons, ready to strike at whatever new monster was waiting inside. Shepard grasped the barrels of their guns and lowered them when the huddled group came into view under the dim light. Nihlus had the beacon, and they had found survivors. As far as he was concerned this mission was over, and not a moment too soon.

"Whoever is in there, we're getting them to safety," he said.

Before Kaidan could form a protest, Shepard turned and beckoned them to follow. They stepped inside and Shepard noted that there were no zombies present, just few frightened, shivering scientists.

Ashley let out a small gasp. "Dr. Warren, thank God you're alive." she said. "Amanda is the head of the archaeological team. Do you know why the beacon isn't at the dig site?"

The doctor was younger than he expected the lead scientist of an excavation to be, with short, red hair and a patch across her chest. Her blue and white uniform was crisp and when she spoke her tone carried an air of authority. Only the bead of sweat across her brow and the slight waver in her voice gave her away.

"We knew the Alliance was sending somebody, so the beacon was moved to the spaceport for everyone's convenience. It all happened so fast. The marines offered protection, so we hid out here when the attack came." Dr. Warren dropped her gaze. "Manuel and I are the only ones left, as you probably know by now."

Her assistant looked much more like the type of person he expected to find working on unearthing an ancient artifact on the edge of Alliance space. Manuel was an impish, balding man with beady eyes and, at the moment, could not stop fidgeting or wringing his hands.

"No one is saved. The age of humanity is ended. Soon, only ruin and corpses will remain," Manuel said.

Shepard raised an eyebrow and looked to his squad, who offered nothing that approached reason or understanding. Ashley, in fact, had her gaze squarely locked on the floor.

"Did either of you see a turian pass through here?" Shepard said.

The doctor looked to her assistant. "We haven't seen any-"

"I saw him! The prophet. Leader of the enemy. He was here, before the attack," Manuel said.

Dr. Warren made a placating gesture. "I'm sorry. We're all a little unsettled since the attack, Manuel especially. Once his meds kick in, he should calm down a little."

Kaidan started to say something, but Shepard motioned for the squad to exit. "Thank you for your help," he said. "Give us a minute and we'll get you out of here."

Dr. Warren nodded as Shepard stepped out of the housing building, followed by his two marines.

"Don't tell me you actually believe that nonsense," Kaidan said. "Nihlus was with us on the _Normandy_ , it's impossible."

Okay, so Kaidan had a point. Plus, Manuel's rambling was evidence enough that the assistant was clearly stuck somewhere between bewilderment and insanity. However crazy the guy might be, he was also smart enough to get this posting, and it didn't seem like he was lying. Every clue they uncovered on this mission seemed to lead to things making less sense.

"I don't know what to believe anymore." Shepard took off his helmet momentarily to rub his forehead. "I am tired of being kept in the dark though. Here's what we'll do. You two take the doctor and her assistant back to our drop point, and make sure they get on to the ship safely. I'll advance to the starport, and find out what exactly is going on."

"Shepard!" Kaidan said. "That's unacceptable. Anderson gave us our orders. The primary objective-"

Shepard wheeled on the lieutenant. "The primary objective is _secure_ , Alenko. You heard Nihlus; he's at the spaceport with the beacon. The survivors are the mission now, and right now I'm giving you an order."

"Sir, what about the geth?" Ashley said. "You want us to leave you alone out here? Who knows what's left between you and your turian."

Shepard paused for a second. He hadn't considered that. Most of his thoughts had been focused on what exactly he was going to say to Nihlus when they were alone. "You know this colony, Williams. How far away is it from our current location?"

"The beginnings of the structure are just over that hill, Commander, but that doesn't mean-"

"I'll be okay. If I run into any trouble, I have a Spectre to back me up." His squad looked unconvinced, and Shepard knew he'd have to give them something to get them to go along with this amicably. "Alright, fine. It shouldn't take long to secure those two. Once you've done that you can double back and meet me at the starport. I'll be the guy stretched out and reclining, waiting to say, 'I told you so.'"

Ashley nodded and looked to Kaidan, who appeared less convinced. "Aye, Commander, but be careful," she said.

"Take care of yourself, Shepard," Kaidan said.

And with that, they both disappeared back into the dilapidated building.

 

* * *

 

Williams was right. After trekking up the rocky expanse outside of the camp, Shepard began to see traces of his destination. Most of his view was blocked by a large outcropping, but once he rounded the last corner in front of him, the valley below would be in full view.

But, as with so many things, he quickly came to regret that his plan had played out exactly as intended. For when the starport came into view, he gasped and the sight nearly knocked him over. Hovering just beyond the reaches of the valley was what could only be described as the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. It was a ship, or at least he _thought_ it was a ship. It swelled bigger than any dreadnought he'd ever seen. The thing had several arm-like extensions supporting its massive insectoid body and had to be at least several hundred meters from base to tip. The most disconcerting part had to be the arcing lasers that pulsed over its outer plating. That combined with the faint droning noises gave him an eerie feeling that it was alive. If this was a geth creation, it was more advanced than anything the galaxy had ever seen.

A bullet whizzed past his helmet and it was enough to get his attention. More geth, a few recon drones and a trooper from the looks of it. Shepard ducked back behind the corner and gripped his pistol. The firefight was short, his shields taking the brunt of the damage. After holstering his weapon, he kicked one of the fallen recon drones out of his path, feeling a little melodramatic as he did so. He had no illusions of being a hero, but also no intention of calling for Nihlus' help and giving away his position. It wouldn't be long before he found out what was really going on here, and this time it would be on his own terms.

Shepard scanned the lowland below and spotted two bulky frames in the distance instead of one. It took almost a minute of running before he was able to make sense of it. Nihlus was easy to spot, with his red-trimmed onyx armor and his distinctive face markings. The other figure was undoubtedly turian, but otherwise unfamiliar. He was lighter, both in his skin tone and armor, and, like Nihlus, was brandishing a weapon. Shepard struggled to keep his eyes on the aliens and away from the colossal ship as he jogged toward them. There was also no sign of a beacon from his vantage point, and that was troubling enough on its own.

Nihlus turned to face the entrance of the valley and even in the twilight, there was no way the turian could've missed him. The comm in his ear crackled to life as he saw Nihlus fumble with his communicator, but the Spectre never got a chance to say a word. His turian counterpart raised the taloned hand that held his pistol and a gunshot was the only thing Shepard heard over his helmet speaker. He blanched as he watched Nihlus' body fall limply to the ground.

By now he was in a full-on sprint, but realized fairly quickly that he'd never make it in time. The unknown turian was out of sight now, escaping through the shipyard in the direction of that towering warship. If Nihlus' assassin was working with the geth, Shepard had to reach him before he got to his ship or he'd likely be lost forever. It was then the ship shrieked, and this time it was enough to knock him over. The droning was thunderous and anything besides the pain cracking through his skull ceased to exist. Thinking was impossible, moving even more so. He cupped his ears and watched as the ship rose higher and higher then slowly disappeared out of vision. Just as slowly, the droning faded, and the throbbing in his head with it. It took a few minutes to regain enough strength to get to his feet, and even then his steps were shaky.

Shepard crossed the remaining distance to the spaceport, haltingly and with great effort. Nihlus' body lay crumpled in the middle of an open deck area. He knelt down next to the turian's body and grunted with effort as he rolled it over. One look into Nihlus' eyes told him enough: the Spectre was dead. Shepard took off his own helmet and tossed it aside in frustration. Nihlus' death didn't absolve him of guilt, but it almost certainly meant that now he'd never get any answers. He rested his hands on his hips and belatedly noticed that his own weapon was missing. It must have come loose when he was writhing on the ground in pain, and honestly at that point pretty much everything aside from the agony was an afterthought.

Shepard grabbed Nihlus' pistol, which had clattered to the ground not far from its owner, and stood. He spit out some blood and tried to scan the area. The warship was gone, and that likely meant the turian was as well. Even if his assumption about the alien's escape plan had been wrong, there was no way Shepard was catching anything in this condition. Right now walking was enough of a challenge.

The spaceport itself was tiny, with one docking bay that looked seldom used. A backwater farming planet like Eden Prime probably didn't get much through traffic, aside from the freighters, despite its moderate level of fame. The level of devastation present here was nothing compared to what he had seen in the rest of the colony, probably due to neglect. Shipping crates were piled up in almost every corner and vegetation threatened to overtake the small ramps that led to the platforms. Just beyond the dock itself lay the foundations of a cargo tram, but the car itself was nowhere in sight. Still, the tracks had to lead somewhere.

"Shepard, are you . . ." a female voice from behind him said.

He almost smiled. So Williams and Alenko were a little fervent—or maybe they were just worried—and had followed his orders explicitly. It made him wish that he had better news to give the two of them. He turned and found them regarding him with an expression that he couldn't quite place. His squad had returned, yes, with a few extra marines flanking them, but judging by how far away Ashley sounded at first, they hadn't moved at all. Nihlus' body was a few feet in front of him, but the soldiers were well across the platform, at least 25 feet away.

His smile vanished as he recognized the look for what it was: suspicion. He was still holding the Spectre's pistol, standing over his body in the middle of an empty spaceport.

"What exactly happened here, Commander?" Kaidan's tone was edgy and heightened.

Shepard's senses sharpened as he chose his words carefully. Even to him the explanation was unbelievable. "There was another turian. He's the one that shot Nihlus. I saw the whole thing."

"Another turian? On Eden Prime?" Kaidan said.

"Yeah, like Manuel said."

Kaidan snorted. "So your new theory is that we take the word of a medicated mental patient?"

Ashley's eyes flickered back and forth between Nihlus' corpse and his gun. If anything their body language had just gotten more tense as they had talked.

"What? No, come on guys, I didn't kill him." Shepard dropped the pistol and took a hasty step back away from the body. "The guy was just . . . "

Kaidan momentarily holstered his weapon to give the surrounding area an exaggerated perusal.

"There's nobody else out here, Shepard."

"No, I know that. He left. On that huge ship, you must have seen it."

"Y-Yeah we saw it," Ashley said.

"The turian left on the geth dreadnaught?" Kaidan said.

Shepard clenched his jaw. "Yes. I think so. I didn't actually see him board it."

There wasn't any reasoning with Kaidan it seemed. And the rest of them didn't exactly seemed convinced he was telling the truth. Shepard couldn't believe he was doing this, but he surreptitiously cycled through all of his exit strategies and found none of them satisfactory. He was outnumbered six to one. The tram car was gone, and the area was way too wide open. Crates were the only thing that provided any semblance of cover, and he knew they wouldn't last long.

"Ashley, come on, none of this makes sense. Why would I shoot him?" he said.

"You-you wanted to go ahead alone." Her voice was wavering heavily. "You disobeyed an order-"

"I _gave_ you an order!"

"Nihlus never actually said he had the beacon, Shepard!" She swallowed hard and clenched her fist. "And if he did, then where is it?"

"Did our mysterious turian friend take that too?" Kaidan said.

"I'm . . . not sure. The beacon wasn't here. I never saw it." This was not happening. It had to be a dream or some stretch of the imagination.

Ashley's voice softened. "Look, just come with us. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all of this. We just have to sort it all out, okay?"

He seriously doubted there was any sorting out to be done that didn't involve him locked away in a subterranean prison for the rest of his life. He was about to tell them to go to hell and take his chances on an escape, but a low hum silenced him. It began building in volume as the sound drew closer. This wasn't the earsplitting drone of the geth dreadnaught or the whirring of any geth platforms. This was a ship.

He turned around and saw, as it crested over the top of the valley behind him, that it was actually a shuttle. Kodiak if his remedial knowledge of transports was correct—and it often wasn't—but this one was different. It was painted off-white, instead of Alliance blue, and there was something mounted on its roof that hadn't been there in any of the pictures he had seen.

The shuttle pulled to a stop behind him and turned perpendicular to the group, hovering roughly 20 feet off the ground. Kaidan started to say something, but never got the chance to finish as the plates on the shuttle's roof withdrew and it became readily apparent what the foreign device was. It was a _gun_ and a rather large one. Its fire peppered the other side of the spaceport and sent the marines diving for cover. Shepard stumbled backward and was glad that the deafening roar of the cannon drowned out his rather loud yelp of surprise. He tried to wave his hands to call the attacker off, but the marines return fire sent him scrambling behind a crate. Okay, he took it back, _this_ was a stretch.

Kodiak's weren't built for taking gunfire, he knew, but the squad was having a hard time getting any opportunities to retaliate over the incessant suppressing rounds. Shepard knew standard protocol would call for them to flank the shuttle, but just as he saw the marines try to move, the cannon's fire caught one of the dock's many containment cells. The explosion swelled enough to envelop several more barrels and the end result was a veritable inferno that sent everyone to the ground. The blast was far enough away that all he felt was a fierce residual wave of heat rush over his cheeks. The fire that covered the entire other side of the shipyard meant that, at least for now, he didn't have to worry about people shooting at him. The marines looked like they had retreated enough to avoid any permanent damage, or at least he hoped that was the case. Either way they surely wouldn't be giving him chase anytime soon.

The shuttle's fire ceased and the transport slowly lowered down to the ground, landing a few feet in front of him with a noisy bang. A loud hiss escaped the craft, a sign the door was opening, and Shepard braced himself for what was to come.

In this situation there weren't very many people Shepard would consider himself happy to see behind that door. The fact that it was _her_ would have dumbfounded him under normal circumstances, but right now it was more like his mind went completely blank. A friendly face was a very welcoming sight, her's particularly so. He didn't know whether to smile or faint—both seemed oddly appropriate—but before he could react at all, she had her gun trained on him.

"Get in."

 

* * *

 

**2113 HRS, March 10, 2180**

**La Grange Military Base, Newport, Rhode Island**

 

Shepard hated parties. The mind-numbing social niceties, the expensive food, the drabness, the fustiness, the general snobbery, it was all enough to make him wish for the Skyllian Blitz. It always felt like everything you said was being read off of a script and talking never felt like a conversation so much as an interview. Which is why he found himself exactly where he planned to spend the rest of his night: standing at the bar, casually sipping his beer.

At least he managed to avoid the dress code requirement, a fortunate benefit of knowing the guest of honor personally. Boots, jeans and a leather jacket suited him so much better than the full-dress uniforms the rest of these overeager marines were wearing.

"Shepard!" A friendly hand clapped his shoulder. "I didn't think you actually came to these things."

"Only the ones with open bars, Jacob."

Taylor was a nice guy, and one of the few real friends he had anymore. There was a symmetry to his thoughts turning toward eager marines followed by one showing up right next to him, but he pushed that away. Jacob was a crusader, which often made for the best—or worst if you asked the other races—type of Alliance soldier. Shepard had been something akin to that himself once, so he understood. But maybe some part of him did begrudge Jacob his naïveté: that way of looking at the word where everything was so simple, and you always knew the right course of action. Things certainly would be easier.

As usual, there was not a button left undone on the marine's uniform or a hair out of place on his head. Jacob liked to say that appearances were important, but Shepard often suspected that his friend just used that ideology as an excuse to lecture him about his typical disheveled look.

What exactly Jacob did for the Alliance still remained a mystery to him. Shepard knew he took a large number of assignments all over the galaxy, and that they never lasted for more than a few months at a time. It was all very clandestine, some kind of black ops, Shepard suspected, and it struck him that his lack of knowledge was probably the point of such a group.

Jacob grinned. "I'm not buying it. But as long as it gets you out of your room for more than an hour, you won't hear any complaining from me."

"Worried about me, Lieutenant?"

"If you're here to find yourself a lady friend though, please do me a favor and try to keep it down. I know we're only sharing that room at the barracks for another week but a man needs his sleep."

"The thing with the duck was hardly my fault."

Jacob smirked and leaned against the bar. "Yeah, yeah; I've heard the whole story before. And look, I'm not trying to discourage you from seeking some companionship. I know it's been a while."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" One of the unfortunate side effects of having close friends was that they always knew exactly what you didn't want to hear.

"I'm saying that you should have worn your dress blues to this thing." Jacob gestured down to his full regalia. "All you'd have to do is flash that giant star on your chest and you'd have an in with any woman you wanted."

Shepard shook his head. "That was four years ago, Jacob. I'm not sure I'm that guy anymore."

Jacob snorted. "Please, that ugly profile of yours hasn't changed since the day we met."

Shepard balled up his napkin and sent it flying toward his friend's face. Jacob's grin didn't falter as he tilted his head and watched it sail by harmlessly.

"Your marksmanship might have deteriorated though. How did you ever outshoot me in basic?" Jacob said.

Shepard reluctantly smiled and took a sip of his drink. Sometimes he regretted making friends with the impetuous marine during their time in boot camp. Jacob was a good person though, and someone you always wanted on your side, even if he could be a pain in the ass every now and then.

Jacob gave his shoulder a light punch. "Seriously, man, you're a goddamn hero. And if you ever let yourself interact with people, you wouldn't forget it so often."

"Is that what works for you?"

"Actually, yeah. I just got stopped by the 113th before I got here. People always want to hear stories."

Shepard took another sip of his drink. "Funny, nobody's been flagging me down."

"That's because people are scared of you."

Shepard shrugged. "Then I guess something's working."

His friend sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Well, I'm sure Anderson appreciates you overcoming your grouchiness to be here and congratulate him tonight."

Anderson. Shepard's relationship with the man stretched back almost as far as Jacob. Back then the captain had seen something in Shepard just out of training, and had defended him time and again when he'd done any number of stupid things that teenagers do. Since then they had tried to keep in touch, even working together on an assignment a time or two, whenever their busy schedules allowed. Anderson was actually the first person he spoke with after Elysium, but Shepard didn't want to think about that anymore tonight. He had already done enough moping.

He glanced up to find Jacob in a heated discussion with the bartender over which brandy was best suited for his choice of cocktail. Shepard shook his head and turned to survey the ballroom. From wall to wall, the place was absolutely packed. He had no idea how Jacob had even navigated through the crowd, much less saw him sulking at the bar. Ungainly waiters shuffled their overly large trays of hors d'oeuvres from group to group without any catastrophes, which, as far as he was concerned, took more skill than anything he'd done in a combat situation.

From the walls, to the drapes that covered the huge bay windows at the east end of the room, to the trimming that framed the dark wood floors, to the ridiculous tuxedo jackets all of the wait staff wore, it was all a weeping shade of ivory. Shepard sighed. Maybe he had overestimated just how much of this he could stomach. If he found Anderson now and said a few words to him, he might be able to escape without too much haranguing.

And then he saw her.

Her dark hair was elaborately coiffed, falling in loose curls over the straps of her equally dark dress. Her gown wasn't flowing like so many of the other women here, but there was only so much he could see of her profile through the mess of the crowd. She turned to scan the room as she moved and soon he was met with a pair of deep, blue eyes. He took a step back, surprised by their intensity and braced himself on the bar when he stumbled slightly. He cursed under his breath and dropped his gaze to the floor, eyeing her slender calves and sharp heels. Not only had he been caught staring, but he managed to embarrass himself in the process. Slowly he dared to look back up as she waded through the throng of people, fading in and out of view. But just like that, she vanished as quickly as she came.

"Taylor." His throat was dry and he pawed at Jacob without breaking his search. "Taylor, I think I just saw La Belle Dame."

"You saw a what?"

He waved off his friend. "Old English poem." She couldn't just be gone. "Uh, a supernaturally beautiful woman."

Jacob snorted. "Oh yeah? What was that like?"

Shepard squinted and craned his head. "Like . . . witnessing some extraordinary astrological event that you know you're never gonna see again."

It was no use. A glimpse, that's all he had gotten before the crowd swallowed her up again. But it had been enough. Enough to make his night and ruin it at the same time.

He turned to his friend next to him and found Jacob's face somewhere between amusement and genuine curiosity.

"Okay, well what did the guy in the poem do?"

The answer made him want to groan. Only Jacob could ask such an inane question and have it carry relevance. "It's a dream." Shepard sighed. "At the end, she's a dream."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Well, don't feel too sorry for yourself. Maybe later on we can find you a valkyrie instead."

"That's not funny."

His friend merely smiled and went back to slurping his drink. Shepard frowned. There had to be at least 200 people packed into this tiny auditorium, any semblance of a fire code being dutifully ignored. He could spend the rest of the night poking and prodding his way through the innumerable small groups of people and never even come close to seeing his mystery woman. His frown deepened as he considered the possibility that she might not even be here much longer. Maybe she was a foreign dignitary who was here to shake a few hands and say a few words before making a prompt exit. Or perhaps she was like him, trying to enjoy one last party before shipping out to her next dreary assignment. He shook his head and abandoned that line of thought. This woman was _not_ a soldier.

Jacob looked his way and the scowl on his own face must've made the marine feel obligated to say something.

"Come on man, just go and look for her. She's here. You're here. It's not like she's hiding from you, because she doesn't even know you exist."

Shepard rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the pep talk."

Jacob made a sweeping gesture. "Get out there. Who knows, you might even screw up and end up enjoying yourself."

Jacob was right, he knew. Still, Shepard couldn't fight the feeling in the back of his mind that the only thing worse than never meeting her tonight might actually be finding her after all.

Behind Jacob the crowd parted, and Shepard realized that he wouldn't have to look for her at all. Because she was right _there_ , and she was heading toward him, all lithe curves, grace and elegance. She was smiling now too, but it was more of a predatory smile, like the kind he had worn when he had finally found this bar.

Jacob must've noticed the stunned stupid look on his face because now he was turning and caught sight of her too.

"Oh, shit."

His friend's voice was enough to bring him back to reality and break the hold she had on him. He glanced at Jacob and found his mouth agape, looking like he had just seen a ghost.

"What?" he said. When Jacob didn't respond it only made him more worried. She was closer now, and would be in range of their voices any second.

"What is it?"

"Uh." Jacob swallowed heavily. "Just give her the benefit of the doubt, okay? She doesn't mean half the things she says."

What that could possibly mean, Shepard didn't know. But he didn't miss the subtle implication. They knew each other. He didn't have time to analyze that discovery though, because she was here, and God, she was even more beautiful up close.

"Ah, Jacob." She had an accent. Of course she did. "Right where I left you." Her eyes moved over to him.

He faltered under her stare and glanced over to find Jacob in no condition to respond to her. He wasn't gaping anymore, but he still had that glazed over look on his face. Shepard wanted to smack him. She _was_ a little intimidating, but there was no defense for Jacob's behavior if he was actually familiar with her. He decided that if he didn't say something they would continue to stand there in silence, perhaps until the next Blasto movie came out. Also he didn't know how much longer he could take her looking at him like that.

"At a bar or a boring party?" he said.

Her eyes flickered and her mouth twitched upward slightly. A small victory, but he'd take what he could get when it came to this woman.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your, uh, friend?" he said. A beat passed and still nothing, so he gave Jacob a slight nudge, hoping he would take the hint.

"Right, um, Shepard, this is-"

"Remy," she said, extending her hand. Shepard missed the quizzical expression Jacob shot her at that.

"Nice to meet you," he said reaching his hand out and shaking hers. "John Sh-"

"Yes, I know who you are, Commander," she said plainly, and he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

"You, um, need anything? A drink, maybe?" he said.

She shot him a perfunctory smile. "I'm fine. Thanks. I won't be staying long."

"How did you even make it through security?" Jacob said.

"My partner has me sneak into places all the time," she deadpanned.

His friend paled a little at her words. Jacob was acting strange, and it went beyond any "this beautiful woman turns me into a buffoon" behavior. Besides, that was his excuse.

"What uh . . ." Jacob cleared his throat. "What are you doing here, Rem?"

Why she would shoot him an icy glare at that, he had no idea. Truth be told, he was still a little uncomfortable himself, although Jacob actually talking now helped things a little bit. He didn't know exactly what their relationship was, but one thing he was sure of was that women that looked like _that_ didn't just show up on Alliance military bases.

"I needed to give you something," she said, producing a small envelope from . . . actually he didn't know where. There absolutely were not any pockets in that dress she was wearing.

Jacob's look was skeptical. "You came all the way out here to sneak in and give me a note?"

Shepard smiled a little but she rolled her eyes heavily. "Look, can we just talk for a few minutes? In private?" she said.

Her tone did not allow for any argument or resistance, and Shepard suddenly felt like a third wheel. Even Jacob squirmed a little.

"Yeah, I guess so. Your timing isn't exactly the be-"

"Taylor!"

Shepard looked over his shoulder to find the source of the voice. It was one of the fleet admirals he didn't recognize—Lindholm, maybe—and she was motioning Jacob toward her group.

"Taylor, get over here. I've got some people I want you to meet."

Jacob paused for an instant, as if deciding which person's wrath he'd be more okay with incurring. In the end though he didn't have a choice, and they all knew it. After finishing his drink in one gulp and shooting his companion a sympathetic look, he made for the group of officials across the room.

Nonplussed, she watched Jacob fade and then finally disappear into the crowd. It was only when she turned to him and her glare softened that he was simultaneously grateful and annoyed that Jacob had left him there to play host.

"I believe you said something about a drink?" she said.

Words wouldn't come, so Shepard merely nodded and tried to sit down as casually as possible. So gorgeous women made him a little anxious, that wasn't incredibly unusual. He'd never had one manage to break his brain before though, and it was starting to make him feel foolish. He did not like that feeling.

He was surprised when she stepped forward and slipped onto the barstool next to him. As she did so, he noticed that there was no wasted movement. Whether she was floating through a crowd, frowning when Jacob was called away, or sitting down curiously close to him, there was a cold precision to everything she did. It looked exhausting, but she was probably used to it, so he left it alone.

While she was busy ordering a fruity cocktail from the bartender, he tried to cook up some decent ways to keep the conversation as far away from him as possible.

"So, uh, you and Jacob are colleagues." It was a flimsy attempt at disguising the question but he figured it was better than outright asking.

She lifted a shoulder. "You could say that."

"From what he tells me, which is nothing, it sounds like he's a superhero." Shepard frowned, realizing how that sounded. "Not that you're his sidekick or anything. I just mean, you know, saving innocents, upholding the ideals of humanity and the Alliance or whatever." He managed to make it all of thirty seconds before sounding like a moron.

"The Alliance has ideals?"

That's what she got out of that? "Um, yeah. Well, so I've been told," he said.

She huffed a laugh but didn't otherwise respond.

Shepard had barely even noticed how she'd redirected him. Damn, she was good. "So if you and Jacob work together, what does that make you?"

"Very patient," she said, receiving her drink. She momentarily raised it in his direction before taking a sip.

So she wasn't a talker, or at least, not about herself. He probably could've guessed that. Well that meant swallowing any questions he had about the exact nature of her relationship with Jacob.

"So why is the Hero of Elysium resigning himself to an office?" she said, putting down her glass and facing him.

Normally he would have bemoaned his plan failing so fast, but he was so dumbfounded by her question it barely registered. He didn't even mind her using that awful title.

"Now how did you know about that?"

She momentarily looked in the direction Jacob had vanished. "Girls talk."

Taylor had mentioned it to _her_? Jacob knew better than to tell anyone something personal like that unless his friend absolutely trusted them. Suddenly the pang of nausea he was experiencing had nothing to do with how she was affecting him.

"How come Jacob has never mentioned you?" he said.

She looked away. "It's been a while since we've seen each other. Honestly, I'm actually a little surprised he even recognized me."

"You're not exactly the type of person someone forgets," he mumbled.

"Oh?" She winked at him. "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

His ears burned. She must have had some kind of superhero hearing to pick that up. But he wasn't going to let her win.

"You can."

She laughed, and it was a pleasant sound. He wished she would do it more often.

"So do you break into Alliance events for fun, or did you just happen to be in the neighborhood?" he said.

"Mmm, something like that." She swirled her drink with her straw and the smile slowly dropped off of her face.

The dimness of the bar was a sharp contrast to the harsh light that illuminated the rest of the ballroom. And under the fuzzy light, he felt, for a moment, insane. Meeting up with an enigmatic woman in the back of a crowded room full of very powerful people carried a lot more nefarious connotations than he cared to think about. He never did things like this. Before tonight, he never _wanted_ to do things like this. He looked back to her eyes to find her look scrutinizing. She was studying him. Maybe she couldn't figure him out any more than he could her, but, like him, maybe she wanted to. The thought sent a little thrill through him.

"You're avoiding," she said. "What's the story behind your new job?"

"Oh. Um, I don't know. I kind of needed a change. Just trying to reintegrate myself into the world, you know?" It was a lame answer, but he hoped it would be enough.

She raised an eyebrow. "Trying to save it wasn't noble enough?"

"That's . . . not exactly how I'd put it."

"Well how would you describe it?"

Fine, he decided to give in. "Exhausting."

Her smile made him glad he did. "Fighting for what you believe in usually is."

The topic was a sore point, so he wasn't surprised when his patience slipped a little. "It's not like I'm just rolling over, okay. I don't _need_ to be a damn archetype for the rest of my life. What has that gotten me so far? You know, most people have dreams. Ones that involve things other than parades and speeches and year-long colonial assignments." He sighed; his defenses were thinning under her scrutiny. "Is a quiet life too much to ask for? It's normal to want to be normal."

Her tone was understanding. "Until you start romanticizing it. Then you sound just as messed up as the rest of us."

He looked back down to his drink. "I'm not a hero."

She reached out and touched his shoulder and he almost jumped. It was the first real human contact he'd had in a long time, Jacob being annoying notwithstanding.

"Me neither," she said.

He looked at her and smiled when she awkwardly removed her hand, folding it in her lap. It felt like there were still faint traces of warmth left over from where she had laid her fingers, but he could've been imagining things. She was surprisingly easy to talk to, even if he felt like he hadn't learned anything since she sat down next to him.

"But." She shrugged. "You made a decision. You'll do whatever you think is right for you."

"That's it? That's your advice?"

"I don't have all the answers, Shepard. And I don't lie awake at night miserable because of it."

He looked at her. "You're disappointed."

She had a faint smile on her face. At the very least he knew she was curious. "Do you _want_ me to tell you what to do?"

Shepard flinched. He wouldn't mind, actually, and it was a rather comforting yet disconcerting thought. He needed to get control of this conversation.

"I want you to stop pretending like you don't care," he said.

Her eyebrows went up at that and she turned to fully face him.

"Look, John." It was the first time she'd used his name all night. "From all the reports out there, it's a miracle you survived that crash."

His usual defenses that surfaced whenever somebody brought this up came up before he could stop them. "Do you really need to deconstruct this?"

She smirked and didn't miss a beat. "But everything that happened before that was not, it was _you_."

"I guess you do," he muttered, but leaned forward a little. This was the only thing she had spoken passionately about all night, and she had his rapt attention.

"So, if you believe the next miracle won't save you, then do it. Who knows, it might be nice to spend weeks at a time without facing random gunfire for a change. If you want to keep being the soldier that you are-" She held up a hand to silence his protest. "Then stop acting like you've done everything wrong in your life. But don't think for a second that running away makes you a lesser person. Sometimes, it's our only option."

Our only option. She-

"Shepard! Glad to see all it took to get you to one of these things was your greatest commanding officer being celebrated."

Shepard turned around and smiled at the sight of Anderson striding towards him. "Oh really? I didn't know Swenson got promoted as well, Captain."

Anderson smirked. "Easy with that. The official ceremony isn't until tomorrow."

"Shouldn't you be out there in the crowd, mingling with the proletariats?"

"Lord knows I'll be doing plenty of that tonight," Anderson said. "And for the rest of my life," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Plus, you looked like you could use some company."

Shepard belatedly remembered that he wasn't alone. "No, I-"

He turned to where his partner had been previously, but all he found was an empty seat. On top of it rested the small, thin envelope she had been waving at Jacob earlier this evening. Just like that, she was gone, and so was his belief in miracles.

 

* * *

 

**1912 HRS, May 10, 2183**

**Spaceport 13-A, Eden Prime**

 

"R-Remy?"

She didn't respond, instead using her gun to make an impassive gesture in the direction of the shuttle. Shepard felt himself taking several shaky steps toward the craft, but this whole thing was beginning to feel like an out-of-body experience.

The transport was roomier than it looked from the surface. The seats of the cabin were plush and he could actually stand up straight without bumping his head on the ceiling. The interior was just as black and white as the outside, with still no trace of an Alliance logo or their trademark blue. The door slamming shut interrupted his mental babbling.

She faced him. At least there wasn't a gun pointed at him anymore, but she was still brandishing the thing like she thought she might have to use it. He didn't know how much longer he could do this alone. It didn't make any sense to him, but it was much more important that she believed him over Kaidan, Ashley, or any of those alliance marines they left behind.

"I-I didn't kill Nihlus." He tried to make it sound more like a confident declaration and less like a plea for help.

"I know." She blew out a breath, used her pistol to brush some hair behind her ear, and then let the gun fall to the side.

"Thank God, someone who—wait what do you mean you _know_?"

She sighed. "Come on, let's go."

And she, as gracefully as she did everything else, turned and slipped into the pilot's seat.

Shepard clambered into the seat next to her, never breaking his incredulous stare. "Go? Go where? How are you even here?" he said, his voice wavering.

She eyed him, hopefully picking up on his distress. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

He shook his head wildly. It was easier than trying to talk. At this point he was pretty sure that this all wasn't a giant hallucination, but that's about as far as he was willing to go.

"Jacob was on this planet when the attack hit. Don't ask me why," she said, silencing him as he tried to form the question. "He was insistent you were looked after, so here I am."

Very noble, Jacob. Send your partner into certain death in your place to save someone she'd met once. His chest swelled a little with pride; at least he was better than that.

"Wait a second. Jacob was here? With you?"

The good feeling was gone, replaced by a twist in his gut after connecting those dots. She spared him a passing glance, but didn't answer him. He didn't expect one. Three years and they were still together.

"Is he safe?" he said.

"Yes he is, which is more than I can say for us right now," she said.

"I—Ah!" The sudden roar of the shuttle firing up caused him to momentarily fly a few inches out of his seat. It wasn't very manly, but impressing the beautiful woman next to him was currently not very high on his list of priorities. Every nerve felt like it was on fire, and his heart was threatening to leap out of his chest.

This was all starting to overload his brain. From the betrayal, to the firefight, to _escaping_ from the Alliance, to seeing the woman he'd secretly dreamt about at least once a week for the past three years, to finding out that Jacob was the only reason she was here. He'd never had a nervous breakdown before, but this is what he imagined the beginning stages of one must feel like.

"Hey!" With the hand that wasn't furiously entering commands into the shuttle's computer she reached out and cupped his face.

He went completely still, but was sure that she could feel his heart pounding.

"Stay with me, alright?" she said. "This is going to be twice as hard if you fall to pieces."

A meek nod was all he could offer as she guided the shuttle into the air. When she had turned to him, he didn't miss the faint blue glow that disseminated off of her body in wisps. All this time and he'd never known she was a biotic. His head was almost ready to start spinning again. Too much information. It was too much. He needed to focus.

"The platform." His voice was hoarse.

"What?"

"I saw a cargo train infrastructure back at the spaceport," he said. "If the beacon wasn't there, it would have to be at the other platform." There was a distinct possibility that the mysterious turian had taken it long before he got there, but he didn't want to think about that.

"And what makes you think it's still there?"

"We-we have to try."

"Why?" She looked at him and her tone softened. "Shepard, you can't go back. Without the resources to clear your name it's suicide."

"The beacon is the only lead I've got. It's my only hope."

"No, it's not. Hope is what's making you miserable." She stopped the craft in midair and looked at him. "This is what we do: We run. We get stronger. And someday, we get even."

The bitterness in her voice actually made him a little sad. "How is that the better option?"

"Because I'm only looking to figure out a plan," she said, "not your life."

He didn't have an answer to that. It was true that she was now in this just as much as he was. Thinking about that reality still overwhelmed him, but he felt ashamed for forgetting it in the heat of the moment.

"I'm not quite sure you understand the meaning of being _on the run_ ," she said. "There will be people chasing us now, people that want to kill us. We have a clear path off the planet right now, but I can't promise we'll ever make it out of that platform alive."

Her last sentence stung of manipulation, even if she was just being honest.

It was easy for her to sit here and tell him to abandon his life as he knew it. She didn't know what it was like to be a fugitive, to spend your entire life looking over your shoulder. To never be able to go home or even talk to your family ever again. He didn't either, but he was in no hurry to find out.

She continued, sounding more impatient with every word. "And what if we do find the thing? Are you going to go back to the Alliance and parade around with it? That won't grant you absolution."

Shepard kept quiet, but knew that only proved she was on the right track. She rubbed her forehead.

"You have a choice," she said, her voice thick. "Maybe the last real one you'll ever have."

She looked at him with such intensity, it took everything in him not to shy away, even as sweat beaded on his forehead. This was it. Either he would be an escapee or a captive, and neither sounded like lives he wanted to live. But if there was any question about where he wanted to be in this world, by the side of this incomparable woman didn't sound so bad.

So he did it. He did, for some outrageous reason, what he'd felt inclined to do since he first laid eyes on her in the middle of a crowded room. He trusted her.

"Okay." He swallowed heavily. "Whatever happens, I'm with you."

She nodded and turned back to the controls. "Then let's go find your beacon."

 

* * *

 

The remainder of the ride to the platform had been spent in companionable silence, aside from a quick adjustment to patch him into her private comm channel. As the beaches and jungles passed below them, her focus on the task at hand remained sharp. He knew this because he'd been sneaking furtive glances in her direction ever since they'd left, and she'd yet to notice.

He had to be going insane. That's the only reasonable explanation for what had just happened. If this last-ditch effort to procure some kind of evidence of his innocence proved fruitless, his life was entirely in her hands—somebody he knew absolutely nothing about. It was possible Remy wasn't really looking after him for his friend. All of this certainly seemed to go above and beyond what someone would do as a favor. Maybe she was actually an Alliance intelligence agent, someone else assigned to watch over him on this mission, and he'd be taken into custody the moment they got off-planet. It would explain how she effortlessly popped in and out of his life without ever truly leaving. Not to mention her connection with Jacob.

Or maybe this was all about Nihlus (or the beacon, the result was much the same) and he was just a pawn in a larger scheme. Shepard gulped. If that were the case, she probably wouldn't have much use for him once she had gotten what she wanted. The problem was that he just didn't _know_ anything, and that left his mind free to conjure up the worst possibilities. She had saved his life, yes, and now he was dependent on her for survival. This woman, whose extent of interaction with him before this day had consisted of being gawked at across a packed dining hall, sharing one very lousy drink, and being subjected to his feeble attempt at flirting later on in front of the barracks, now controlled his fate.

The shuttle slowed and she gave an imperceptible nod that he took as confirmation that they had reached the destination. The information snapped him out of his trance, and he was grateful that she hadn't seemed to notice, or at least that she hadn't said anything if she did. He relaxed his hands, which he realized had been holding a death grip on the armrests of the co-pilot's chair, and tried to scan the surrounding area for any sign of the Prothean artifact.

By the time they touched down, he had come up empty and resigned himself to hope for better luck in the coming minutes. In fact, Shepard noted that the entire area of the spaceport was devoid of any activity, geth or otherwise. It was a little unsettling, and he was sure she picked up on it too.

She unstrapped herself from the seat and briefly looked at him before leaving the cockpit. He took a deep breath, and, when that didn't seem to help, rose and followed her. In the cabin she had wrenched the door open and was wordlessly checking over her gun.

"Um, Remy."

She didn't look up from her scrutinizing.

"Hello?" he tried, a little louder. That got her attention. "I don't have a weapon. I, uh, kinda lost my last one when I thought you were going to shoot me."

She almost looked offended. "You thought I was going to kill you?"

"No!" he said a little too quickly. "I don't know . . . you are kind of intimidating."

"And you needed to tell me that?"

"Look, I already told you that I'm going to trust you. I never said I knew why."

She seemed a little amused by that and he, for the life of him, couldn't imagine why. She popped in the metal ammunition block and slapped the pistol against her palm to lock it in place. "Here," she said and tossed it to him.

The gun felt cumbersome in his hands, a heavy reminder that from here on out everything would be different now.

"You really think we can do this?" he said.

"I've thwarted assassinations, broken up slaver rings, taken over pirate ships, and toppled regimes. Most of it by myself. Think of what I can do with a pencil pusher at my side," she said, and smirked at him.

It was impressive, but it didn't sound like bragging. Someone like her didn't have a fragile ego of course, nor would she care about impressing him. If that was her best attempt at reassuring him, she needed to work on her people skills.

Remy grabbed a pistol of her own and faced him when they reached the door. "I'll set up a perimeter. I know the place looked deserted, but use the comms if you see _anything_."

He gave a weak nod, but didn't move, not even when she stepped out and turned to face him again.

"Still with me?" she said.

"Y-Yeah."

It was hard not to think about the impending consequences of what they were about to do. He turned and found that although he had seen the station from above, he had been much more focused on locating the beacon than actually examining the area itself. The platform was much more intricate and developed than the previous spaceport bay. Multiple levels framed the alcove where the train would dock, with interconnected ramps and walkways that bridged overhead to allow for travel between the two upper sections.

It made perfect sense that this was the place the beacon would be stored, if it was actually still here at all. This structure was huge, and it occurred to him that perhaps Remy was right, that this wasn't a good idea. If they didn't get the beacon and get out of here fast enough, the Alliance might catch up, or worse, the geth mothership might return.

"What, uh, what do you think I should-" Shepard shifted back toward his companion only to find empty space. He grumbled silently. So she had a habit of doing that. At least this time he knew she was coming back.

He set out, but not before accessing his omni-tool and activating the comm channel. "You know, you have a very disturbing tendency of vanishing into thin air. It was bad enough the last time."

"Was it?" she said. "Not too interested in leaving me anymore then?"

At no point was he ever really convinced leaving her was the best idea, no matter how much he thought he could convince the Alliance, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

"I don't know," he said, shoving aside some boxes to look down a blocked hallway. "You're not so bad up close."

"So I've been told," she said, and he flinched. That was not what he meant, and he was sure she knew it.

Shepard crossed a walkway and moved deeper into the station. The winter breeze had stopped now, leaving everything eerily quiet aside from the occasional creaks and groans of the structure. The platform ended here and he saw the tracks stretch into the distance, held up by thick black cables he could barely make out in the darkness. There was a side area off of the main platform, and unless he wanted to double back, it was the only direction left for him to go. The speaker in his helmet crackled to life.

"Remember, Shepard. At the first sign of trouble you say something."

He looked around theatrically. "I don't even know where you are. What exactly do you plan on doing if I do find something?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, exhaling. "I'm sure it will involve you hiding behind a crate and me playing the hero."

"Very funny," he said and hoped that she was joking.

The path led to a narrow alley, with a small raised walkway being the only way forward. It gave way to an open ramp area that he assumed served as cargo storage for this platform. From his position, the raised station allowed for a clear view of the surrounding land. In the distance he saw the next cargo station, and then the remains of the train. The track had been torn apart, a large gap stretching at least 50 feet long was missing, and the train itself lay in a crumpled burning heap. Smoke billowed both from the wreckage and some other disaster in the distance that he couldn't quite make out in the dark. It was, however, impossible to miss the large field of scorched terrain right over the platform's railing. The only thing he had seen on this planet that was capable of that kind of destruction was the monstrous geth flagship.

"I've found the train," he said. "It's not an option. If we get stranded away from the shuttle, we have no way out of here." He didn't mean to make it sound so grim, but it was actually rather in line with how he was feeling. After all, there was no sign of the beacon yet.

"I didn't rescue you just to die on this bloody farm world. We're going to get out of here."

"It's that simple?"

"I've done everything I've set out to do, Shepard. This is no different."

For her, it was just another self-assured declaration of superiority. A way for her to define herself and her world view, while hopefully calming his nerves.

But it's also what you say right before you die, and he couldn't imagine an admission more depressing.

Shepard traversed down the ramp and rounded the corner to finally enter the wide expanse of the terrace below. There were more of those horrific spikes, and impaled atop them were the same zombie-like creatures he had battled earlier. Immediately he turned a shade of green and was glad his friend—or partner, or whatever she was—wasn't there to see it. He could at least take solace in the fact that with no geth in the area, these didn't seem to be alive, or activated, or whatever made them want to kill him.

"Shepard, we have a problem," she said, and there was a touch of franticness in her voice that he had never heard before. "You need to get back to the shuttle now. I found some demolition charges in an alcove."

"What?"

"I can't disarm them and they're triggered to blow in minutes. The geth must have set them up before they left. This whole colony is wired to explode," she said, but he was barely listening anymore, because it was _there_.

He blamed his foolish terror at the sight of the spikes for missing it when he first entered this part of the station. Situated against the railing and standing tall, was the Prothean artifact that had upended so much of his life in the past six hours.

"Shepard, did you hear me?! I said we need to get out of-" Her voice faded to buzzing in his ears.

Shepard knew it was important—bombs were dangerous obviously—but he was entranced by this artifact. He was closer and it was glowing now, a light, wispy shade of green. Just a few more steps and he could finally put his hands on what would hopefully be the instrument of his salvation.

The beacon's glow intensified and suddenly he felt himself being _pulled_ toward it. It freaked him out enough to break his stupor, but as much as he tried to claw himself away, the artifact was too strong. He was so close now that he finally could reach out and touch it, if only to try and use it to push himself away. He did that, and then the world itself ceased to exist.

He felt weightless, like he was floating, and a million images flashed in front of his mind. A giant machine. Robotic infrastructure. Millions of wires and cords, all tangled together. A beacon, not unlike the one in front of him. Claws. A space station. It all blurred together as the images seared into his thoughts. He thought he felt a soft hand on his wrist, and he wanted to move to take it in his own, anything to break the spasms. But as hard as he tried, the blackness was stronger, and it eventually dragged him further and further down until there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lengthy start, but I really wanted to get through all of the boring stuff that we already know happens on Eden Prime anyway. Timelines are a little different than when these characters first met in the game, and as a result they act a little different. Shepard hasn't defeated Saren yet, and Miranda hasn't seen the galaxy almost torn apart by Sovereign. I really wanted to make this universe different than just a simple re-telling of the games. This will very loosely follow the plot of the series, but I've changed quite a bit (as you can see). Most of what's going on Shepard has no clue about, but it'll all come out in time. Thanks for staying with me so far.


	2. Life in a Graveyard

**0124 HRS, March 11, 2180**

**La Grange Military Base, Newport, Rhode Island**

 

The base was dark. Darker and more abandoned than Shepard expected a military headquarters to be and he was grateful for the month that he had already spent living here that allowed him to commit the area to memory.

Shepard remembered now why he so often opted out of these stupid things. Because no matter how entertaining the night had been so far—and he was _not_ going to admit to actually having fun tonight—they always ended the same: shuffling back to his room, alone, wondering why he bothered to leave it in the first place.

His feet hurt, and right now more than anything he wanted the comforting smell of clean sheets and a bed that, for the next week at least, he could call his own. The frigid breeze nipped at his neck and Shepard flipped up his collar, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. If this was supposed to be spring, he remained unconvinced.

The street lamps that guided his way down this narrow road that (hopefully) led to his barracks were spaced way too far apart to be of any practical use. The faded, silvery lights reminded him of a hospital and, as he stepped in and out of the flickering glow, Shepard felt much like he must look: in-between light and darkness, in-between knowing what he wanted and actually having it, in-between being a hero and a coward, in-between jobs, in-between happiness and misery.

Shepard strode onward, slightly drowsy, watching the wet asphalt of the street flash by three feet at a time.

When he rounded a corner and the barracks came into view, the first thing he noticed was that the door was ajar. It was certainly strange, but not altogether unreasonable, considering the amount of alcohol consumed tonight. Most of the men in his building had been at the party after all, and Shepard had somehow ended up being one of the last to leave. A moment later he understood exactly why the door was open when a slender form slipped through and shut it behind her. He was then met with long, black hair and a very familiar face; it was one that he suspected he wouldn't ever forget.

The area was open, and he couldn't have been more than 20 feet away, so even if he felt like hiding, it was impossible. He wasn't stalking her after all, but he wouldn't blame her for thinking otherwise. Something akin to curiosity flickered across her face when she saw him, but only for a moment before it was gone.

It was a hallmark of his stunning inexperience when it came to relationships that some small part of him had secretly been hoping for this scenario. One in which she had decided to come back to him, albeit in the fantasy she probably looked a little happier to see him. Now she was perfectly composed, but there was something restrained in her manner, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Though it was far too late and she had no doubt been through a lot today, somehow even with her hair let down and without any jewelry she still managed to give the impression of being immaculately turned out. He absentmindedly wondered if she still smelled of mint and gardenias, or if he might get close enough to find out.

For the moment, he was too embarrassed to look at her any longer, so, as he approached, he tried to focus on any other point he could find: the rusty hinges of the metal door, the broken window next to it that was supposed to have been fixed yesterday, the rose bush that he had stepped in one too many times. And before too long, he _had_ to face her because she was standing right in front of the doorway.

"Bet you're not happy to run into me again," he said. It was supposed to be something resembling an icebreaker, but when she didn't reciprocate his nervous laughter it turned into more of an awkward truth.

She eventually cracked a small smile, hopefully not at his patheticness. "Oh, I don't know," she said, pink-cheeked from the cold. "I can't seem to get rid of you. I might as well accept it."

Why did it sound so smooth when she said it?

"You didn't strike me as a big believer in fate," he said.

"I'm not." She leaned in close, but hopefully not close enough to hear his breath catch, and whispered it like a secret. "If fate has me running into you at the end of every empty hallway, I think it sold us both short."

With how transfixed he was on the way their eyes locked, he could barely process what she was saying. God, she _did_ smell just as good as he remembered, maybe even better now that the cold air had dulled some of the artificialness. Her hair blew lightly in the breeze and those silver-blue eyes were brighter than any light he had passed on his way here. His omni-tool beeped and Shepard jumped, blindly fumbling with his wrist, thankful only that he had at least been given a small relief from the tension of the moment.

"In-in general or in this specific instance? Because right now I have no complaints," he said, happy to have any thread of the conversation to grab on to.

He composed himself, but shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away when she still stood, blinking at him curiously. It wasn't supposed to sound like a line, but now he didn't have much of a choice. What he really wanted, he didn't dare articulate, at least not yet.

"And you shouldn't either," he said. "It could've been someone entirely different behind that door. Someone much more dangerous."

Her brows came together. She probably didn't know him well enough to know when he was joking, but he understood enough about her to know the sentiment was ridiculous.

"And much less handsome," he added.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You must be truly desperate to result to using threats on my life to flirt."

"Well, maybe," he said, embarrassed, but meaning it. "To be fair, you left so quickly at the bar I didn't get a chance to say anything."

"That's because I came here for a conference, not a quickie."

"Looks like you stayed long enough to do both," he said before he could stop the words. Her nostrils flared and he immediately wanted to slap himself.

"No, no, no, that's not what I meant." This conversation got worse every time he opened his mouth. "I'm just saying, you're still here, and so am I and we could've . . . well not _that_. Um, not necessarily, at least. I just meant you didn't have to go so early . . ." He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm a little drunk, and more than a little nervous."

He had realized much earlier that this woman wasn't a soldier, but she was _something_. And as her face adopted a taciturn expression, he could feel that other person taking over. Some kind of cold, distancing mechanism.

"I mean, you are here at the barracks. For all I know you could've been here looking-" he stopped and was sure the redness of his cheeks had nothing to do with the weather. If it were at all possible, he would've resigned himself to not speaking for the rest of the conversation.

"Looking for you?" she said, ignoring his clumsy apology.

Later he would reflect on her anger and be mildly disturbed by it. Only two things you snap at—things that are wildly false and things that are entirely true.

"No," he offered meekly. "I was going to say, um, looking for me."

She laughed what he imagined to be her real laugh. It was soft and almost mirthless, very different from the honeyed, modulated one she used earlier when she first spoke to Jacob. "You are incredibly annoying, you know that?"

He was still nervous, so he babbled. "You sound like every girl I've ever dated." He paused briefly, and then the rest of the words tumbled out of his mouth all at once. No way was he giving her a chance to respond to that. "Not that I can see any reason behind it. Why you feel that way that is, not the sounding like-uh, I just mean I think I'm pretty harmless. Most of the time."

"Yes, I know," she said, pushing some hair out of her eyes. "I suspect that has a lot to do with it."

It took him a second to understand what she meant and under normal circumstances her way of making him feel stupid probably would've been slightly offensive.

"So why are you . . .?"

She raised an eyebrow when he didn't continue. "There are other people that live here besides you, Shepard."

Oh. _Oh_. Her answer surprised him, though maybe it shouldn't have. She had come here for Jacob, after all. Maybe his earlier slip-up had been much closer to the truth than he realized. Shepard suddenly felt very ashamed of himself. For listening to Jacob, for actually enjoying himself, for giving her the power to upset him. Aggravation came fast however, and it trumped the humiliation and at least allowed him to say something.

"So that's it?"

A slight shrug that told him she was treating this with the same nonchalance that she had conducted herself with all evening.

"Now that I've pried Jacob away and gotten what I wanted, I can leave," she said, as if it explained everything.

He felt at the very least somewhat betrayed. Opening up to people wasn't something he did very often and she had practically tricked him into it. The only thing he couldn't figure out was why.

"So why aren't you?" The edge in his voice seemed to catch her off-guard, and he used the opportunity to press her further. "Why even have that drink?"

He almost added _Because you're sleeping with my friend, and all I do is get on your nerves_ which was the only obvious truth. But he wanted to hear her answer, so he bit his tongue and instead fixed her with the hardest glare he could muster for someone he'd been looking at with radiant, admiring affection all night.

She looked away. "Shepard, can I ask you a question?"

He frowned at her deflection and felt himself deflate, somehow managing to feel even more foolish than he had minutes before. He had no right to be upset with her, and no real reason to make her feel uncomfortable. If anything he was more angry with himself for letting her get to him that much. She never owed him anything. It occurred to him that this might be the last time he would ever see her, and he didn't want anger to be the final feeling he experienced.

She tilted her head. "According to Jacob, you actively avoid these smarmy get-togethers. You despise them. What were _you_ doing there?"

Her tone was genuinely contemplative—not angry, not sarcastic. "B-Because," he sputtered, taken aback. "I don't know. Anderson is my friend. I had to go."

He almost left it at that, but the way she was looking at him made him want to keep going. This was harder to answer than he thought. "I might think they're a waste of time, but . . . sacrificing to do something good for someone you care about . . . isn't that all relationships are?"

She leaned in close again, closer than before, and for one heart-stopping moment he thought she might kiss him. Her voice was soft, barely audible over the blood pounding in his head and the whistle of the breeze.

"That's why I stayed."

And then she was gone. Shepard was left hanging in the evaporating tension for a few seconds to recover before he whipped around and reoriented himself to her retreating form. As much of a disaster as that conversation had been, it did leave him with a surreal, warm feeling. He stood there, watching her leave, for a few moments longer than was probably necessary—slightly hoping that she would stop and maybe tell him to get in touch with her if he needed anything—but he only saw her turn around once, catching a glimpse of her blue eyes on his once, calm and cool.

It was almost disturbing that what he found so fascinating about her were all of the things most people probably found particularly bothersome: her penchant for speaking in riddles, the way she looked through you, rather than at you, and the gravitas she carried without even trying.

She had come into his life like a whirlwind, snatching up all manner of what once were peripheral emotions, and leaving turmoil in her wake. And now as she faded in and out of view, passing under the dull grey light of the street lamps, he felt it all slipping away.

He couldn't argue that she presented an exciting life. Or rather, an exciting life with her, which was an idea he had been stupidly holding onto all night. It had only been a few hours, but her presence had already become something of a friendly weight. She had a strange way of shutting out the world around him. Calling her a distraction would be a disservice, and a comfort not meaningful enough.

Shepard sighed and shook his head, but couldn't look away as she finally vanished into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

**0112 HRS, May 11, 2183**

**Pax System, Horse Head Nebula**

 

"Wha-what's happening?"

His voice felt faint, even in the silence. The world was very fuzzy, and everything tasted like lemon meringue pie. Moving didn't come easy; it was as if he was wearing a heavy suit of armor (and he wasn't, not anymore). From what Shepard could tell, he was curled up on his side on top of a long, upholstered lounge seat built into the wall of what looked like a small train cabin, and his head was resting on something comfy, and warm. There was a pervading hum, but, along with the gentle feeling on his scalp, it was more soothing than annoying. He turned over onto his back and hazarded a look upward, fearing that he already knew what he would find.

But it wasn't one of the marines he left behind on Eden Prime that he saw when his vision cleared, just a very shapely, weary figure that had focused her attention on him after the movement. "You feeling okay?"

"I . . . I don't know. I think so." He had to concentrate hard and when her features finally came into focus, she was staring down at him, her gaze shrewd and appraising. Her eyes had lost a certain luminosity and the bags under them exuded an unhealthy wanness that reminded him she wasn't as invincible as he had built her up to be in his mind.

"I didn't expect you to be awake so soon. I still have no idea what happened when you touched that beacon." She paused. Her next words were so quiet he wasn't even sure if she really said them. "But it was certainly frightening."

The beacon. Thinking about that did make his head hurt. The last thing he remembered was that gripping feeling of panic as the thing came alive and started pulling him toward it. Somehow he had not only survived that, but gotten off-planet in time to avoid the bombs?

"Am I dead?"

She laughed quietly. "This is your vision of paradise? Waking up next to me on a run-down Asari transport?"

No, she was right. Plus, if that were the case, she probably would have been wearing much less clothing. Shepard suppressed a groan and hoped he hadn't said that out loud. In this state he was hardly sure one way or the other.

"The extraction could've gone smoother," she said. "But there's been no sign of the Alliance yet, although that's not really saying much."

He frowned. "Did you actually have any trouble making it out okay?"

"You worried about the future?"

It looked like she hadn't slept in days. "I'm worried about you."

She sighed. "It was nothing I couldn't handle. Don't fret about it. Besides, I'm not that one that just had a near-death experience."

He gave her a dubious look, but acquiesced. When he closed his eyes, he found that felt so much better. Now that he wasn't preoccupied with trying to focus on what he was seeing, he was finally able to identify that the sensation he was feeling was her running her hand through his hair. That meant his head was on her _lap_. He had to be really out of it if it took him this long to notice something like that.

"What-what are you . . .?" he trailed off and smacked his lips, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. To her credit she didn't have to ask what he meant.

"We're supposed to be husband and wife," she said, and he immediately regretted the question if it meant she was going to stop her ministrations like that. "It wouldn't look very good if I tossed you to the other side of the room after you 'fainted'."

"We're married?" It was a stupid question, but not an all altogether revolting one. His head was swimming way too much to try and analyze the ramifications of _that_ thought. "What exactly happened while I was asleep?"

She was smirking at him now. "No, you credulous idiot, but I needed some kind of story to get us on board. And that seemed like it would go over better than escaped traitors."

"That makes it sound so bad. What about something more ambiguous, like renegades, or rogue spies?"

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine. We can be rogue spies instead."

He squinted at her, his senses feeling very dull. "I'm not so sure I like the idea of being a spy rather than your husband."

She chuckled softly. "Well at least I know the propofol didn't do too much damage. You're still you, as annoying as that is. Though you probably need your rest."

"You . . . drugged me?"

She nodded and grabbed his arm, which still rested on her thigh, and smoothly moved it back down to his side. "I had no idea what you'd be like when you did wake up, but I couldn't risk you making a scene before I could secure us a way out."

He tried to lift his head, but realized very quickly that was a bad idea. "That's a little much for a first date."

"Well then it's a good thing this is our second."

He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to get the damn taste out of his mouth. "Is that why I feel so—so loopy?"

"Probably. Either that or the beacon." She was looking out the window now, and it occurred to him that he still had no idea what was going on.

Shepard hazarded another look around the room. The window was behind him but he still caught a glimpse of space and stars. "Where are we?"

"I used the shuttle to barter us passage onto this liner." She looked back down to him. "It was too dangerous to keep using it after the Alliance got a good look at it planetside. We'll be at Illium in a couple of hours, but until then you should relax."

"The colony." He was slowly regaining brain function. "What happened to it?"

She shushed him. "Too many questions. Get some sleep, and we can talk when you're feeling better."

She made it all seem so very formal. A colony was destroyed, presumably, and thousands, maybe millions, were dead. Oh, and it had been mostly his fault. Had it not been for the utter ineptness with which he handled pretty much everything after he got up in the middle of that field on Eden Prime, his team would've carried on with their mission. Whether it was the drugs, whatever the beacon did to him, or perhaps just his own conscience, a creeping feeling that felt much like death was edging into his stomach. All the darkness he'd tried to shut out threatened to start roaring back in and he shivered involuntarily.

She must've noticed because she brought a soft hand down to rest on his shoulder. He tried to anchor himself in the dimness of the pitiful cabin, the pounding in his head, her subtle encouragement, the not-so-subtle hardness of the bench he was resting on, and the familiar hand on his skin. Anything to stop the aimless drifting that he suddenly felt like he had been doing for years, just to keep any kind of reality from pushing through.

Before yesterday he had withstood his solitude impassively enough, without realizing quite how lonely he had come to feel. And tossed away from the world he knew, it was hard not to yearn for that feeling of being needed, if only to serve as a comfort. Even if she was only doing it to protect their well-being, and even if she never became anything more than a fantasy, he would take it.

"Remy," he mumbled, not opening his eyes. He felt her slide the hand down to rest on his chest.

"Hmm?"

"If I suddenly turn into one of those zombies, you have to shoot me, okay?"

"What, so you don't infect me?" she said. He nodded and could feel, rather than hear, her exasperated sigh. "You watch too many movies. You're not going to transform."

"Well, yes, those are the two outcomes. Either I do or I don't."

"Are we really having this conversation?"

"Okay, it's admittedly not as fascinating as staring uselessly out the window for the next few hours."

"They're not trying to eat your brain, Shepard. They are just synthetic-organics, and their existence has been known since the First Contact War."

If he wasn't fading so fast, he would've asked her how she could possibly have known that.

"And judging by what happened on that planet, as long as there aren't any of those spikes around, we will be fine," she said.

If he had any strength left, he would've groaned in disappointment. "It was way cooler before you explained it."

"It was absurdity until I explained it."

"You know, sometimes a simple yes or no answer is good enough," he said. He cracked open an eye to see her staring down at him, her nose wrinkled.

"I think I like you better when you're asleep."

He smiled a little, but tried not to let it show in his voice. "I'm just saying, someone has to be the brains of this group when I'm incapacitated."

She gave his nose a light pinch. "Small shoes to fill, but I'll fill them nonetheless. Now go to sleep."

Feeling much better, he yawned and turned his head, burrowing further into the cushion of the seat—and into her, but that was little more than an afterthought. They were safe, for now, and while the beacon thankfully hadn't killed him, it had done something. Perhaps, if they were lucky, it would be enough. Shepard slowly drifted away in the confines of the cramped train cabin and dared to hope.

 

* * *

 

 

**0133 HRS, March 11, 2180**

**La Grange Military Base, Newport, Rhode Island**

 

Shepard slumped against the cool, metal door as it shut with a bang. She was gone now, for good this time, and he hoped that made her a little sad, because it made _him_ a little sad. All of the closeness of the evening was gone, and all that remained was the frustration of knowing what the future held.

He knew that he would be embarrassed and stiff in the morning when he had to face Jacob. There would be plenty of questions about his night and teasing over how foolish he'd acted around someone who was clearly very connected and very powerful. But a bigger part of him was dreading Jacob's questioning exposing the closeness of last night for what it was: make-believe.

It had only been a short amount of time, but from the moment she left him at the bar, Shepard had been desperate to recapture that feeling. And—for a few minutes in the cold—he had. But now he was alone, and it was all unreal again. He was right back where he started, and he tried to tell himself that it was enough, just to have had her all to himself for those few fleeting moments. Only it wasn't.

Shepard was almost to his room when his omni-tool beeped again, a gloomy reminder of the past few minutes. He considered again hitting snooze on whatever alert had interrupted his earlier conversation, but curiosity got the better of him. The display came up and showed him it was a message that had been waiting for him. Shepard groaned. Even when Jacob wasn't there, he had a way of putting a damper on Shepard's interactions with his beautiful companion. He slumped against the wall, tapping a few buttons so that the text was brought up to read:

_I don't know where you are, but I hope you took my advice tonight. I certainly enjoyed myself and I can only hope that you can say the same. At the very least, you deserve that much my friend. There's more that I want to tell you, but it's a little much to type into an omni-tool, and I'm almost asleep as it is. I left you a letter on the dining table that should explain just about everything. Hope you didn't live it up too much and are still able to read it whenever you get home._

_Jacob_

Shepard shook his head and let his wrist fall back to his side. If there were anyone else with him, he would've made a wisecrack about how it was very Jacob to write him a note telling him that he had left him a note. But he was alone, and Shepard would be perfectly fine if he lived the rest of his life without anyone else reminding him of _that_ fact.

By the time he reached his door, Shepard was so ready for this day to be over he would've been agreeable to just about whatever Jacob had in store for him. He fully expected to find his friend hunched over the kitchen table, scribbling down some final, meaningful information like it was 1852 and he was moving out West. Shepard fumbled with the buttons on the keypad as he tried to enter the code to his room, and the lock finally acquiesced after a few tries.

Though it wasn't terribly late, he still somehow managed to trip over the umbrella stand and make a lot of noise coming in. The crashing sound was amplified by how deathly quiet and empty the rest of the apartment was. The housing was only temporary, and therefore bare and unfurnished by default; the dull white walls barely visible through the stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes. Soon everything would be gone, leaving only a sea of white emptiness in its place. And with them would go the last vestiges of evidence that the "great" Commander Shepard had ever been here.

Shepard tried to look out into the disarray and confusion of the living room, but the place was as dark as it was silent. Only the steady hum of the building's power generator stopped his ears from ringing in the stillness. Jacob didn't snore, so it was impossible to tell if he was already asleep; especially since he always kept his door locked. Some ridiculous sentiment about never knowing what was coming. Shepard would've called him a gullible moron if he thought it would've made any difference. To steady himself, he reached for the back of the sofa in the darkness.

The only thing of note in the front rooms was the kitchen table, extending long enough to seat ten, leftover glass table settings and ornamented napkins stretching off into opulent darkness. Shepard belatedly remembered that whatever was so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow, when they were both alert (and sober), was waiting for him somewhere on the table.

He shoved aside the candlesticks swamped with puddled beeswax and the bowl of oranges Jacob always insisted on having with him wherever he stayed. They actually weren't bad once you got used to the fact that they weren't real oranges. Crisply folded in half, a small sheet of what looked like a page torn off of a lined notepad rested gently in the center of the arrangement. Reluctantly, Shepard picked it up and began to read by the light of his omni-tool.

_Shepard,_

_I know, I know. I originally said I'd finish out the week with you before I went on to my next "spook adventure" as you love to call them. But now, things have changed. My.. situation has changed. Before you ask, no I can't give you any details, and I know that beyond your own annoying curiosity, you don't really care anyway. So let me just say this: sometimes what you need to do for yourself doesn't always make everyone else happy. You know that better than anyone. I don't know what you thought of.. Remy when you met her tonight, but even though she can be a little . . . uncompromising, what she's doing is important. And this time she needs my help. She's very good at what she does (though I'm sure she told you that herself), but more importantly: we can trust her. And if you don't believe that, then trust that_ _**I** _ _believe in her. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm leaving, first thing tomorrow. You'll still be out cold I'm sure, so I guess that makes this goodbye. I don't know when we'll see each other again, but I hope that Vancouver ends up being everything that you want it to be._

_Who knows, maybe we can stop by sometime and share a coffee with you, or whatever it is that normal people do._

There was no signature at the bottom, but at this point that hardly seemed to matter. The two of them would be leaving in the morning, together; Jacob had made it clear. If there were any lingering doubts about the true nature of Remy's visit (to this room or the base itself, it made no difference), they were all but eliminated in the severity of the letter Shepard now held in his hand.

He crumpled the piece of paper, content to take out his frustrations on the note if his friend was too scared to face him. And make no mistake, Jacob _was_ avoiding the conversation that Shepard himself had been dreading only minutes ago. Now, however, Shepard's feelings more resembled consternation. He had blabbered on like a moron for far too long about his mystery woman before realizing that she was Jacob's . . . whatever she was, and at this point Shepard didn't care how ridiculous his disapproval looked. Jacob knew all of that, of course, which is why he heroically deigned to leave in the early morning light.

Shepard stumbled to his room and stopped in the doorway, dismayed, and tucked the wrinkled message into his inside jacket pocket. Shepard himself was never one for goodbyes, and Jacob knew that too. Though he was a little sad to his friend go, Jacob's feelings would surely be a little hurt if _he_ had done something like this without staying to at least try and explain himself. As for Remy: she didn't seem particularly upset to see the last of him, though in truth Shepard still felt a little sick to see her leave.

Shepard took a few steps into his room, shrugging off his shoes and then his jacket. He tossed the coat aside, not even flinching when it knocked over the wooden hat rack at which he'd been aiming. He sighed. In a few days he'd be off to his new life, Jacob off to his even sooner than that. And it would be a lie if he tried to act like he hadn't considered what it would be like to trade places with him, and that was something he _never_ would have thought about before tonight. He could only hope that they had both made the right decisions, but right now, in his soon-to-be-empty apartment, he was less sure than he'd ever been.

Shepard fell into bed, not even bothering to remove his clothes, and wondered when life had gotten so complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been updating this more regularly on FF.net and neglecting it here. I'll have to fix that. 
> 
> Much shorter this time! Posting nothing but 10k+ chapters would wear out both you and me I fear. I know the timelines have jumped around a lot. Sorry if that caused any confusion, but that will calm down fairly soon. I do plan on involving other characters in this other than just Shepard and Miranda, but they have a long way to go as it is.


	3. A Lesson in Romantics

**0512 HRS, May 11, 2183**

**Sahrabarik System, Omega Nebula**

This room—if you could call it that—that he'd been sharing with Remy for the past however many hours was somewhere between a janitor's closet and an incredible bargain. It was big enough for two people, but unless you enjoyed being able to reach out and touch your roommate from any point or position, it was ideally suited for a couple.

And they were a couple, or at least they were pretending to be. A fact Shepard had all but forgotten when he had woken up alone and panicked, yanking the cabin door open and almost running into a passing employee. The asari seemed to know him though, because she began asking several probing questions about his health and his lovely wife.

Remy must not have been too far, because before he could ruin their crafted story she eased up to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. That was enough to distract him from anything she or the Asari were saying to each other. Only when Remy had to squeeze past him to get through the doorway, her smaller frame pushing past his, was he brought back to reality.

It had taken a long time to convince her that she needed some sleep, even longer to persuade her that he'd be fine up here on his own. After all, no one actually docked at Omega if they could help it.

So here he sat, eighteen thousand feet up, watching the transport ships conveying people and goods and who knows what else from their ship down to the city below and back. He had never been to the former mining outpost, but he'd heard of it of course. The Terminus Systems were the site of many Alliance ghost stories, and you couldn't mention that place without talking about Omega.

The station was burning a dark shade of orange, its mushroom-cloud outline comfortably hidden among the other innumerable asteroids that lined the belt. Up here the city somehow looked innocuous, less imposing. Shepard leaned back and watched his own reflection come into focus. The loose black cargo pants were probably the only thing he still owned suited for any kind of athletic activity, and the matching nondescript boots had been Alliance issue, or at least that's what he guessed. Either way, right now the cadet aboard the _Normandy_ didn't need them nearly as much as he did. Those, along with his plain dark-green T-shirt were—or rather had been—his work clothes. Except that this wasn't a job anymore; it was a manhunt. And unless he cleared his name, it would continue to be—tomorrow, and every day after, for the rest of his life.

He shivered involuntarily. Part of him had yet to fully wrap his head around this reality. Everything with Remy was full-speed all the time. Now that he had finally gotten a breather, the prospect was starting to terrify him. He had no plan, no confidence, and only a faltering hold on his own identity.

At heart he wasn't a runner; he was a flounderer, and the past ten years had been dedicated to screwing up his own life without having to worry about messing up anybody else's. Acting as a consort, especially to someone who made his head spin at every turn, seemed to leave little hope for success. This, he reminded himself, was precisely the reason he had left active duty in the first place. Just when he seemed to be on the cusp of scrabbling his own world together, other people's problems always had a way of magnifying and then becoming his own.

Not that any of this was her fault. He sighed. Sooner or later he was going to have to get the bottom of why she was doing this, or, failing that, how long she would be sticking around. He could at least appeal to her sense of pragmatism. If she wasn't telling him everything, then he couldn't trust her, and if he didn't trust her, she couldn't . . . use him. That made him wince. Hopefully her intentions were purer than that.

His eyes drifted over to her sleeping form in an attempt to regain the flickering courage she had instilled the night before. She had changed clothes, somehow, in-between getting shot at, chased, and almost blown-up. Gone was the flattering bodysuit that, amidst all the chaos, he somehow managed to give much less attention than it deserved. The dark long-sleeved shirt and heeled boots made her look much more like an ordinary wife. Well, if you managed to ignore the holster tucked discreetly under the brown leather jacket she wore. And the fact that traditional wives didn't look anything like _her_.

In fact, she looked strikingly different now. It wasn't the clothes or the new persona she had easily slipped into; it was her features. She seemed relaxed, unguarded. Right now there was no front she had to put up or lie she had to sell him on. She was just herself. What exactly that meant still remained a mystery to him, but it was noticeably different. She turned her head, a strand of hair falling over her eyes and he had to fight the inappropriate urge to halve the already tiny distance between them. He lingered on her frame for an extra moment, feeling equally fascinated and desperate.

For the first time since he woke up on this ship, he let his shoulders relax. It was no use grinding his mind down with worry. For the moment nothing was going to change.

He was still alive, as hard as it was to comprehend. And, for now at least, he wasn't alone. Across the cabin, his companion stirred and Shepard moved to drape her jacket over her chest. Almost reflexively, she frowned in her sleep, her hand grasping the pistol he'd seen her empty and stick halfway into the inside pocket. It looked like in some ways she was still the same person, even in her dreams, and it was awfully cute.

Okay, he decided, so maybe there were a few things about this new life that weren't so bad.

"Right, because your old one was so incredibly exciting." Her sarcasm is unmistakable in his head, even as he watches her chest rise and fall steadily barely three feet away.

Miles above Omega, Shepard smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

**0952 HRS, May 11, 2183**

**Nos Astra Commercial Spaceport, Illium**

She had slept the entire way there. Or at least he thought she had. It was hard to tell with someone who had received comparable—if not better—intelligence training. The transport ride had felt like the first time he'd been able to sit down and think in days. And once he had, the pieces fell together so smoothly that he felt like a colossal moron for not realizing it before. This woman was some kind of handler, most likely military given her relationship with Jacob. He had always kind of known it in the back of his mind, but back when his thoughts were chiefly focused on waking up next to her in the morning, it was the sort of thing that was easier to just not think about.

That didn't answer many of the questions he still had about her, but it helped give him some kind of footing. Over the past few minutes Shepard had seen many passengers pass by through the crack in the small window curtain on the door, but now that steady stream had stopped entirely.

Shepard scooted to the edge of the bench. If they were getting off, they might as well be quick about it now that they had some privacy; he imagined it's what she would want. She had said Illium after all. He'd been woozy at the time, but he remembered that much. But, as with pretty much everything now, it was all in her hands. Even if he wanted to strike out on his own, without a chance to at least get his feet under him he'd wind up dead long before he was ever captured.

She was still lying on her back, head turned away from him with her hair again obscuring her face. He considered reaching out and brushing it away to see if she was awake before yanking his hand back at the obvious intimacy of the gesture. Gently shaking her seemed like the best course, but he still paused midway, feeling very stupid, but somehow not wanting to bring her back to the quagmire that reality had become.

"If you just sit there and stare, it's not going to be very hard for the Alliance to find us," she said, her voice muffled.

Shepard dropped his hand to his lap and was sure he turned ten shades of purple. Her eyes were still closed when she rolled over and stretched. He tried to focus on something other than how much her chest stuck out when she arched her back off the seat like that.

"They're not going to find us, right? I mean, whatever the plan is, it's going to work."

"I don't know," she said, stifling a yawn. "Why don't you ask me the next time we find ourselves on the run?"

Under other circumstances he might've smiled. For someone who took herself so seriously all the time, she did seem to be able to make him laugh. But flippancy was not the reassurance he needed right now. He slumped back in the seat. With the sunlight trickling in through the small window in the corner and the air-conditioner providing a droning stream of white noise, Shepard allowed himself to feel regret. For trying to escape at Elysium. For going to Vancouver. For coming back to combat ops in the first place. But most of all, for taking charge of a mission that he had neither the inclination nor the readiness to lead. This whole thing was a mess.

She must have sensed his darkening thoughts, because she swung her legs around and leaned forward to grab his wrist. That drew his eyes to her face along with his body going motionless, a reaction that seemed to happen every time they had physical contact. It was enough to clear the fog at least.

"Shepard, you can't get lost. We have to get off this ship as a couple."

"Okay. I get it," he said, shrugging out of her grasp and rising.

"I don't think you do." She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down into the seat. "I'm your wife, which means you have to stop acting like you stepped into a cold shower whenever I touch you."

Some small part of his brain that needed to be squashed wanted to point out that it actually had the opposite effect, which was really the whole problem. He shook his head to clear the thought but avoided eye contact. "I know that."

She shifted to catch his line of sight. "And don't look away. They'll know you're not telling the truth. Just think of it as a mission. You have some experience with those."

"Yeah." He didn't dare say any more.

"We have to blend in. That means being likeable but not memorable, so smile if you have to, but stay close." She paused, seemingly looking for confirmation that all of that had gotten through, so he gave her one. "If you start to panic," she said, "remember that affectionate couples make people uncomfortable."

He fought off the urge to gulp but just barely. It probably would've made him look like a cartoon character, but she was the one that created this ridiculous cover entirely without his input. So all in all he felt he had the right to be a little distressed. But if she was composed enough to put reality aside for the mission, then he resolved to try and do the same. It felt absurd to call this circus act a "mission" but it was more calming than quibbling about semantics.

"It's not an elegant solution," she said. "But if things get uncertain, people will avoid us." She frowned. "And no fidgeting, or looking squeamish. Let go of whatever anxiety you've been carrying around since I picked you up."

Shepard realized he was doing exactly that and stopped squirming. She was right. If this was ever going work he was going to have to stop feeling sorry for himself. He felt a little ashamed. As a general rule he had never been a big fan of PDA. Less so when his life was riding on it.

"When we step out that door you're not a soldier anymore, Shepard. You're a con artist." She stood up and offered her hand.

Again, she had a point. It was easy to pay a few creds and take a ship somewhere, but once they entered the city, the real odyssey would begin. One last time he considered telling her how insane this all was.

He had run away from the Alliance, from home. And though right now he didn't have any say in the matter, he suspected the only place he would really feel safe was here. On Illium. In the _Terminus Systems_. With her.

He had tried to explain some of this back in the shuttle on Eden Prime, while he was clutching the armrests so tightly they might have broken off and doing his best not to freak out. To reason with her, to tell her that she didn't know him, that he couldn't run away from his own life, that once you start running you can never stop, that it's almost always better to stay and deal with it. That he had already broken several laws long before Alenko and Williams found him at that spaceport—and even worse, she was breaking them just by having him here with her.

But one look in her eyes told him she wouldn't listen to any of that. She was a dedicated agent in every respect, from the secrecy she shrouded her job with to the overly dramatic mission she obsessed over. But she was something else too, behind all the clichés. She was clever, she was committed, and she was _trying_. When weighed in comparison, the reasons why had a way of mattering very little.

With her hand still outstretched, all she said was, "Are you ready?"

And somehow, he was.

 

* * *

 

 

**1017 HRS, May 11, 2183**

**Nos Astra Commercial Spaceport, Illium**

The journey out of the ship was mostly uneventful. After a few empty rooms, they'd passed the same Asari that he had accidently confronted earlier. And before she could say anything to them Remy had sidled up next to him—so close that he was surprised they didn't trip over each other's feet—settled her hand at the small of his back and steered them in the opposite direction. The maiden—Shepard didn't know much about Asari, but the way she was giggling told him enough—opted instead to give them a smile followed by an exaggerated wink. He turned to question Remy about exactly how much she had talked with that cabin attendant, but stopped when he saw a faint tinge of a blush on the edges of her cheeks. That, he decided once they rounded a corner, was worth asking about.

"Um," he said, unsure of how to phrase it.

She took a step back from him then ran a hand through her hair, and suddenly she was a different person. "What is it?" she said. Her eyes bounced from window to window, scanning the port outside, but the blush hadn't faded. "Did you see anything? Is something wrong?"

"No, no," he said. "I just . . ." These fake identities were going to take some getting used to. For example, he had to check to make sure they were alone before continuing. "I don't know what to call you."

It was a lie, but, he reminded himself, so was everything from now on. And he wasn't going to let her know that she had fooled him within the first five minutes. He was somewhat impressed too, of course, but also slightly mortified. For what seemed like the thousandth time, he swore to himself that he was in way more over his head with this girl than he ever would be with the Alliance.

She chuckled, but it was hollow. "We're not signing a lease or anything. This cover wouldn't even exist if it weren't for that annoyingly effusive woman. First names are fine; it's simple, easy to remember."

For someone who seemingly had a plan for everything, she sounded surprisingly unconcerned with how flimsy their stories were. Maybe she planned on doing it all herself, relegating him to a faraway corner whenever anything arose. If that were the case, he was going to show her that he could do more than seesaw across paths that were meant to be walked in a straight line.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I just assumed you'd have every detail mapped out down to the fake university I graduated from. You should know ahead of time that I'm not very good at thinking on my feet."

She had that same restrained look in her eyes that she always carried when whatever she had to say next was guaranteed to make him feel foolish. This time he didn't feel like giving her the satisfaction.

"But your way works fine," he said, "as long as we never talk to anybody."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand to lead him onward. "That's the plan."

He didn't know for sure what he was expecting to see when they stepped off the transport ship and into the docking bay. The nightmare he had been cooking up on the ride over was somewhere between the end of a zombie movie and a tragic opera. But it wasn't. There were no hordes of soldiers waiting to take him in, or mercenaries readying their weapons. It was just a port station, albeit a bustling one. There were a couple turian food kiosks, some Asari running a few very large magazine stands, and countless small boutiques, which, if the people sitting at tables outside some of them were any indication, doubled as something akin to coffee shops. He yawned and stretched, which was harder than it should have been with her death grip on his hand.

All manner of races shuffled by in front of him; a couple of wide-waisted volus snorted in his direction before plodding off to the larger part of the docking station. A band of clearly connected turians, all wearing the same black and white armor and openly brandishing assault rifles, were the only reminder that now he was in a part of space that no law reached. Shepard had never been to Illium before, but part of him hoped the allure didn't show on his face. This had to be the most beautiful barbarous cesspool he'd ever set foot on.

"Um . . . honey," he said, trying to fall into character, "You really think we won't be compromised here? This is kind of crazy." The crowd she was now pulling him through was fairly packed. It would scare him, but not shock him, if their link was broken and they somehow lost each other in this mess. "I still don't know anything about you, or where we're going."

It was a thinly veiled barb, but he did feel a little slighted that she wouldn't tell him the first thing about his _fake_ wife let alone the real her, which was all he really cared about. And yes, maybe the fact that they were now in public had some effect on his decision to voice his disapproval. He was a coward. So what.

"It just has to last until we get there. It's not far." Her tone was clipped. It seemed like she was more focused on navigating them through the mass of people than anything he said to her.

He wondered if she kept missing the point on purpose. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and in his current state he felt more akin to a homeless person than someone who'd be deserving of her. Actually, right now he technically _was_ homeless. "Okay," he said, "but in the meantime do you really think anyone is going to believe us—I mean it?"

She turned and cocked an eyebrow. "You did."

"I was barely coherent!" he sputtered. His protest came out much weaker than he intended, his breath catching when she yanked him forward.

Her reply was lost in the drone of the crowd, and he figured that was as much as he was going to get out of her. After a few more moments of claustrophobic peril that would certainly be left out of the story he told to his children one day, she brought him to a stop in front of one of those breakfast shops he'd noticed earlier. Compared to all the others this one was fairly unremarkable, which was probably why she picked it. The blue neon of the shop's sign cast a dull light over the half of the patio area that the awning covered. It was ridiculous really; they were still inside a terminal after all.

"I don't get it," he said. "Our destination is a coffee shop?" It wasn't, obviously, but if she was going to be deliberately obtuse, then so could he.

She didn't take the bait. "Or you haven't had anything to eat or drink in over 24 hours. Aren't you hungry?"

He was. The threat of death had a funny way of dwarfing everything else that would normally come as second nature. Wherever they were going, he hoped they had a shower. Their room on the transport ship had a small bathroom complete with a sink and a mirror, and he'd tried to use it to wash-up as much as he could. It worked well enough to avoid drawing any extra attention, but it didn't make him feel any better. Up-close he surely still smelled faintly of grime and destruction and whatever else they left behind on that planet. Speaking of Eden Prime, it was about time he got the answers he was promised. That is, after he got something in his stomach.

"Yeah," he said, and his gut growled its assent. "But I still have questions."

She led him to a small, uncovered corner table next to the metal fence that separated the patio from the hectic terminal thoroughfare. He would've made a quip about tactical positioning if he didn't already suspect that was exactly what she was thinking.

When she came back to the table with two bottles of water in one hand and two paper bags that smelled way too good to have come from a place like this in the other, he tried to relax.

He took the bag she was offering, probably a little too excitedly, and rifled through it. What tumbled out on the table was not exactly what he envisioned when she asked him about food.

"Um," he said, checking the bag to make sure this was it. In front of him sat what looked like a two pieces of charred bread, or something that was trying to be bread, slathered with a beige paste. It all combined to form a very unappetizing sandwich.

"It's an asari shop," she said without looking up. "It's called keta'kai."

"Do I wanna know what that means?"

She sighed and sat down heavily in the seat across from him. "Ok, let's get this over with. How about you ask me whatever it is you _do_ want to know?"

That was easy. "Where are we going?" He frowned. "I mean, in the immediate sense."

She rolled her eyes. "I have an apartment downtown. If we-"

"Wait, you live here?"

"I didn't say that." She opened her bag and pulled out what he could only assume was the asari version of a muffin. In truth it didn't look any better than we he'd gotten.

"So why do you have a place in Nos Astra?"

She took a bite of food and spared a glance at one of the docked ships. "Don't you think you're getting a little distracted? I won it on a game show. Who cares?"

He covered his embarrassment by tasting his sandwich. If she was going to open up to him, he'd try to control his eagerness. "Ok," was all he said. The meal itself wasn't nearly as revolting as it looked. The taste reminded him vaguely of honey, though his stomach was so desperate for food anything was bound to be delicious. "Then what?"

Remy looked thoughtful. She had one arm hanging off the side of her chair, her fingers tapping the underside of the table. "We get some clothes, and I make a few calls. Once we're ready, we start heading someplace secure."

"Your apartment isn't safe?"

She shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all. "In what galaxy is Illium safe?"

He sat back with a sigh. More running. He should have expected that. Either she really cared about protecting him or she really hated not being in control. Of course, it was possible he had those reversed.

Her eyes were focused on some point behind him, scanning back and forth. She was probably checking the perimeter for threats or escape routes or whatever it was they taught you to do in secret government contractor school. Big crowds probably made her nervous, more so than they made him, and for very different reasons. He spoke up; he didn't want her driving herself crazy.

"Okay," he said and cleared his throat, "so what happened on Eden Prime?"

Her grip on the water bottle tensed but relaxed just as quickly. "I did the best I could," she said vaguely.

"No, I _know_ that," he said quickly. How could she think he blamed her for any of this? "All I meant was . . . well, I don't really know anything. And I'm so tired of it."

She seemed reluctant to answer his question. Actually, now that he thought about it, she seemed reluctant to answer any question. At all times, more or less.

"Yeah," she said. The food in front of her had long since vanished. Though she would never admit it, she must have been even more weary than him. "It happened just about how you imagine it did. A lot of running, a fair amount of yelling. You're not easy to carry, believe it or not. Even with the help of biotics."

He couldn't help the small, inappropriate chuckle that escaped. If he didn't know better, he might actually believe she was trying to cheer him up.

"And my friends?" he said.

"I'd hardly call the people who wanted to take you in your friends."

He felt suddenly small and predictable. It was hard to imagine her empathizing. With the way she withheld things other people would never bother to, the hopeless obstinance she retreated into whenever he tried to get closer to her—it was a defensive mechanism (he hoped).

"They used to be," he said. He turned the half-empty water bottle over in his hands like a precious gem. "When the time comes they'll help me clear my name."

She exhaled loudly. "This is exactly why you got burned on Eden Prime. You keep wanting to believe the best about people. All those marines saw back on that planet was an intergalactic criminal that needed to be brought in and a nice promotion in their future," she said. "You were just a means to an end, simple as that. Oh, don't look so shocked. Everyone does it."

He felt, at the very least, a little appalled. "That is not what people do."

She looked at him with something approaching pity. "If you take anything away from this fiasco, let it be this: people do things because they think that's the way it'll work out best for them. That's it."

He felt his frown deepening. "You think that's how I'm supposed to handle things?"

She moved a shoulder a fraction of an inch. "I'm not the one with my face on the news."

"Because you never _trust_ anyone."

"But you do," she said. "See how awful that turned out?"

He sat back again, taken in by the gravity of her tone. He didn't really know what to say, so he didn't say anything. On one of the large automated screens in the distance Shepard watched the simulated computer shuttle make its digitized trip across the galaxy and back to Illium again. He couldn't help but feel like they were all alone together, adrift, like deserted operators of some abandoned Siberian outpost. That thought had once given him a modicum of comfort, but the more they sunk into this reality, the more it was slipping away. The digital shuttle was making its way back into the Terminus Systems now. In a few moments the small little dot that represented Earth wouldn't even be visible on the map anymore. All he could think was that the further away he got from Systems Alliance Space, the more of himself was left behind there.

Eventually he couldn't delay facing the critical eye across the table any longer. The silence was heavy but lasted only a few seconds. When she rose and began to clear her side of the table, the moment started to slip away.

"It works sometimes," he said, and they looked at each other for a half beat too long.

 

* * *

 

 

Remy returned to their table with a cloth napkin tucked under her arm and sat back down in her chair without a word. She reached forward and grabbed his almost-empty bottle of water while also producing a compact mirror from her inside jacket pocket. After flipping open the mirror and giving it a cursory inspection, she took the napkin and soaked it with the remaining water.

"What are you doing?" he said. "You look fine."

"Thanks," she said, her tone suddenly flat. "But you don't." She handed him the mirror. "See?"

He didn't spot it at first, but after some closer inspection there was no question it was there. A spot of blood maybe twice as big as his thumb nail had soaked into his hair. She must have spotted it when he turned to look at the flight board.

She scooted her chair over closer to his and leaned forward, dabbing at the spot just above his ear with the piece of cloth. Her other hand rested on his cheek, bracing his head, and sending a warm shiver down into his chest. Her eyes concentrated on the task at hand, not faltering when she had to fold the napkin over once and begin again. Her face was very close, her cheeks smooth and he had to close his eyes to break the burgeoning intimacy. She smelled of vanilla and faint traces of soap, and her breath tickled his jawline. The pressure on his head began to lessen and her thumb brushed his ear.

After a few more seconds, it was over. He opened his eyes to see her leaning back with an appraising frown. "I can't believe I didn't notice that sooner. You must have had some head trauma back on Eden Prime," she said. "If it starts bleeding again, I might have to stitch you up."

"Okay," he managed to say, his voice a little shaky after that. He mentally added "field nurse" to the now long list of things he assumed she was an expert in.

She clearly misinterpreted his uneasiness because she tilted her head. "I don't know what happened to those marines we left behind," she said. "They're probably alive. You and I both know Alliance protocol would've had them return to your commander after what happened. And I didn't see your flagship when we took off. I hope that's some consolation."

"It is," he said but didn't feel like he was telling the truth. It was somewhat of a relief to find out Kaidan and Ashley were all right, if only an entire colony hadn't had to pay the price instead.

Under the shop's overhead neon light, he felt pale, worn out, the resolve all gone. "Who exactly do you work for?" he said. "I'd at least like to know who it is that owns my life now."

Her face stiffened slightly as if she hadn't expected him to be curious. "Nobody owns you. And what makes you think I don't work for the Alliance?"

He snorted. "Please."

She said nothing.

"I can't do this with you right now," he said, the strength beginning to drain from his voice.

She shifted in her seat. "I know you have questions-"

"Yeah," he said, his lips a thin line. "You've answered one."

She sighed. "Two, actually. Since we're in the middle of a bloody docking station, let's go ahead and postpone the rest of the interrogation until we're somewhere more private."

He stifled a groan. When they first met the constant dodges and deflections boosted the air of mystery that surrounded her, and only made her more alluring. Now they were beginning to grate. This wasn't the time to save face or manipulate his perspective by withholding information.

"Why won't you tell me?" he said.

"If I answer that question, then you'll get upset."

"I'm already mad. Just tell me."

"You're not angry. You're just annoyed." She leaned back in her chair. "There is a difference."

His right hand balled into a fist, but he brought it down to his lap before she could notice. Whatever she thought about how he was feeling, the last thing he wanted to do was prove she was right.

"Look," she said, "I'm sorry if you think-"

"I have no idea what to think," he said, hoping his frustration showed, "because you never _tell_ me anything. I'm trying to trust you but . . ." Shepard ran a hand through his hair, careful to avoid his injury. He wasn't quite ready to start shouting at her yet, but they couldn't go on like this.

Remy leaned her elbow on the table, resting her head on her hand. Her entire expression was pulled back in apprehension, like she suspected he wasn't done with her yet.

Shepard could feel her studying him as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "We're on the same team, I promise," he said, his voice firm. "But I can't keep tiptoeing around you thinking you might secretly be an assassin in a catsuit."

She looked disappointed. Nearby, other patrons were filling the patio with calls and laughs, normal conversation having given way to hollering over the terminal's announcements and the din of the crowd. He was once again thankful she'd picked a corner table.

"So tell me _something_ ," he said. "Answer one more question."

The familiar way she sat up a little straighter and wrinkled her nose upon processing that was adorable. For a second he forgot he was supposed to be mad at her.

"How about where you grew up?" When she chewed on her bottom lip, he let out an absurd chuckle. "Oh come on, that's about as innocuous as it gets."

One of the asari baristas passed by them, bumping into a krogan at a nearby table. Her tray spilled, a couple of cups shattering on the floor. It was sharp, but not entirely audible over the voices of the patrons. Shepard saw her mumbling a few apologies as she bent down to scoop up the mess. He was thankful for something to break the stare down he and Remy had had going.

"I was born on Earth," she finally said. She didn't seem amused by his smile. "Fascinating, I know."

"Good," he said, feeling relieved. "Me too."

She looked around impatiently. "Great, glad we talked," she said, beginning to get up.

"Hey, hold on," he said, reaching out but not grabbing her arm. "That barely counts."

"Are you trying to annoy me?" she said.

"I'm trying to connect with you, and that's what's scaring the hell out of you."

She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, but didn't argue any further. He took that as implicit permission to go on.

"How long have you been doing . . . err, whatever it is you do?"

She sighed. "Almost twenty years."

 _Wow_ , he thought. That brought up a whole new host of questions. But he had to be careful about how he proceeded.

"What about your parents?" he said. Her mouth tightened a little at that one and he decided to try something else.

"Siblings?" he said. Again, nothing. "How about your last name?"

She looked like she had to think about answering that one.

He rolled his eyes. "Your middle name?"

She squinted at that. "What?"

He repeated himself and she froze for an instant. The words seemed to filter through her mind, her face passing from its original confusion, to incredulity to finally settle on something akin to frustration.

"I'm not here to play games," she said, "nor do I want to have fun. I have no interest in indulging you anymore. I'm here for one reason: to make sure you're safe. Nothing else."

The chastisement burned a little. He had a feeling he'd never find out why she cared so much. It was pointless to try and explain that these things she saw as trivialities—her name, her job, her family—actually meant something to him. It seemed to be the only way he was able to connect with people anymore.

It hadn't been a total loss though. Wringing some truthful answers out of her about herself felt like the biggest victory he'd had since she picked him up. It was at least something. This wouldn't be the last she'd hear from him about all this, but, given the circumstances, she could keep her secrets for now.

"That's it?" he said. "And then what? You're gone?"

Something flashed in her eyes, but she looked away before he could place it. "Come on, Shepard, let's go. We've done enough sitting around."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate reading 300 word spiels detailing someone's update schedule, so all I'll say is that this story isn't going to die anytime soon. I have a decent buffer so hopefully I can post more regularly. This chapter originally clocked in at a ridiculous 15000 words and that was way too much, so I had to split it up into two. As a result it might've felt like not much happened here, but there will be some kind of payoff next chapter, I promise! I always felt it was a little odd that we went from "I don't need friends" Miranda on Minuteman Station to her opening up quite a bit about herself the moment you step foot on the Normandy and talk to her. I tried to keep her more consistent here.


	4. I've Given You All

**1129 HRS, May 11, 2183**

**Skyridge Confluence Towers, Illium**

When they left the terminal together, they were again walking hand in hand. Though this time it was less of the make-believe lovers they were supposed to be and more of the familiar feeling of her leading him around by the wrist. It had been this way when they walked to the coffee shop too, but that was a consequence of the fluttery nervousness that sparked when the all-too-pleasant idea of faking affection was first brought up.

Now that feeling was gone. In its place was the creeping uneasiness that had stayed with him since he'd first hid behind a crate in the Eden Prime crossfire. It wasn't that he was afraid she would leave him, although a part of him was. It was the threat of shattering this alternate world that he'd just started to grow accustomed to living in. A place where he could count on the smallest comforts — like her hand resting on top of his — to mean so much.

While Illium looked impressive from inside the spaceport, Shepard found out that he had a lot to learn. When they exited into the transportation hub, he caught a glimpse of the skyline and stopped short. That caused her to do the same and earned him a sidelong glare. At the moment though, he was way too stupefied to notice. Back on Earth he'd grown up in cities, spent most of his life there, but none of them looked even remotely like this.

After a few moments they were moving again. There were so many better things to be doing than staring at Asari architecture. It was hard enough keeping his eyes off the slender frame moving very deliberately in front of him. Shepard tried to always respect women, even ones that were grudgingly putting up with him.

They rounded a corner and were suddenly face to face with a line of taxis. Shepard was grateful they'd finally be getting in a vehicle again. He was beginning to grow tired of being marched around like a child. He chose not to think about the parallels to their situation as a whole and instead focused on the portly volus who was in way too much of a hurry to secure their fare. The cab itself blocked his view of their driver as he got out, but Shepard heard the pitter-patter of his boots on the concrete and the loud clang that followed when the volus misjudged the angle and slammed into his own taxi as he rounded the corner. Shepard would've been impressed that the driver didn't miss a step if he wasn't too busy trying to hold back a snicker. Remy was watching the scene as well, her expression neutral, so Shepard tried his best to emulate her.

The volus stopped in front of them, sounding a little more than out of breath. "Hello Earth-clan. I am Botni Dur." He paused to wheeze. "I noticed you seemed to be in need of my trained services."

On the way over Remy had cleared her throat and her face changed. When she answered him the words flew out of her mouth, her voice sounding uncharacteristically flowery and light. He managed to pick out a little bit about their ongoing honeymoon, and something about "Manjoros Plaza." Her hands waved busily in front of her and her face sparkled with animation. It was a front, of course, but it was still hard to look away.

She kept talking, occasionally drifting in and out of a language that even his universal translator couldn't pick up. Botni perked up at that, looking like he was trying hard to keep from bouncing up and down. The volus seemed almost as eager as when he'd first jumped out of the taxi. At that point Shepard gave up all hope of following the conversation. If the occasional glances she sent his way meant anything, they were talking mostly about him.

The conversation began to die down and Botni looked at the very least a little disappointed that they didn't have any luggage for him to stow away. Shepard didn't have the heart to tell him that, judging by their last accommodations, the volus wasn't going to be getting much of a tip either way. Remy inclined her head in the direction of the taxi and Shepard took that as his cue to get in.

Most of the cab ride was spent listening to Botni question them in earnest about every mundane detail of their relationship. Shepard for the most part stayed silent. Partly because it was the prudent thing to do, and partly because he was still a little unsettled over how their last private conversation ended. Remy seemed more than happy to do most of the talking up to this point, so he was content to let her.

A couple of hours ago this would have been exactly what Shepard would've wished for: a chance to really sit down and iron out the specifics of these cover lives. Anything to give him some sense of footing in this sea of lies that kept him floating out of control. Now all of that seemed to matter so much less.

Shepard was happy to rest his head against the window and watch the Nos Astra skyline pass. Whether he was supposed to be listening or not, most of what was said ended up getting tuned out. It was only when her surreptitious glances became blatant that he felt obligated to respond.

And now, as he stared up at the two monolithic superstructures in front of him, he kind of wished he'd listened better on the ride over. Maybe some of the shock could've been subverted, and he wouldn't have to try and hide how unprepared he was.

He hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings, but he suddenly felt her very close.

Her breath was warm in his ear and it sent a pleasant current down to his toes. "Maybe you should act like you've seen this place before so you don't blow our cover."

He took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said finally. "I wouldn't want that volus on our bad side."

Behind them Botni almost tripped over himself again as he made his way around the taxi. "Exquisite architecture," he said, coming to a stop next to them. "This part of the city always reminds me why I earn my credits. Honeymoon suite?"

"Something like that," she said and linked arms with Shepard.

He hated how effortlessly natural that felt. She turned to face the volus and he found himself moving with her.

"That should be all," she said, tapping a few keys on her omni-tool.

"Much appreciated, Earth-clan," Botni said in-between wheezes. "Enjoy your coupling."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Right."

Botni waddled off, muttering something about a "wonderful Earth ritual." Shepard was just thankful he hadn't asked them why they were checking into a hotel room without any luggage. He didn't even know if this place had hotel rooms.

Shepard watched the volus hop back up into the driver's seat of his taxi and speed off. "Well, that could've gone worse."

"Everything can always go worse," she said.

He smiled in spite of himself. That familiar tickle in his stomach was beginning to resurface, and Shepard did his best to squash it. They walked together, much more casually, into the rightmost building's lobby. For some reason she still held onto his arm even though they were alone now, but he knew better than to ask about that.

The glass elevator slowly made its way down and opened its doors wide. Once again he hoped he wasn't making a huge mistake, but in that quiet moment before he stepped onto the lift, he mentally shut the door on that part of his brain. He forgot about Eden Prime and the two turians he met there and the Alliance and the beacon he still knew nothing about and the state of his squadmates and the sad little yank of loneliness that threatened to pull him back to the docking bay and into the transport ship and across the galaxy and back to the four dull walls of his Vancouver condo, where he knew the Alliance would be waiting.

She'd asked him to come back to her apartment with her, and he'd agreed. That was it. They needed clothes and food before they moved on. They also needed some money and time to relax, because right now they had neither. And because he was desperate for a shower.

The elevator rolled upward along the side of the building.

 

* * *

 

She used a DNA scanner to unlock the dark, thick wooden door adorned with a big gold three. The technology was in-line with the affluent style of this place, but it seemed a little much for a personal apartment. Once the machine had accepted her facial scan and hand print, the door creaked open. There was something careful about the way she entered the room, like she wasn't entirely sure what was behind the door. If it were anyone else Shepard would have just chalked it up to the nervousness that came with showing him her place. But even with the overly suspicious way she'd treated their cover stories, he still thought it a strange way to treat your home.

Remy opened the door slowly and then all at once. He got the feeling that this was how she entered all unexplored rooms — with one eye behind her and one hand near her gun. For reasons he couldn't quite place, it made him a little sad. Without bothering to invite him in, she marched down the short entrance hallway and ducked into an alcove that looked to be the kitchen area.

Shepard felt tentative as he closed the door behind him. He felt like a visitor — not just in her apartment but in her life. The knowledge that he was only here because they had to be just served to reinforce it.

He forced himself to take a few more steps inside and the breadth of the area opened up in front of him.

To his right lay the small kitchen area, which, he noticed, she was conspicuously absent from. He was sure she'd slipped in there before he'd turned to shut the door. Whenever they got in the clear, his first request was going to be lessons on how she crept around like that.

In front of him and past the kitchen was what could only be the living room. It was smaller than he would've imagined and very spartan. Aside from the brown leather couch that rested against the right wall, the rest of the furniture — from the small table to the bookcases to the dresser, even the rug — were dreary shades of grey and beige. It reminded him of (and looked as depressing as) the model homes the relocator had shown him after Shepard first arrived in Vancouver.

He entered the room and stood next to the couch, as if he was clinging to the only bit of identity he could see. Two main hallways sprouted off at opposite ends of the living room, which he supposed led to bedrooms and bathrooms. Just as quickly as she disappeared, Remy emerged from the hallway opposite him carrying a duffel bag.

She spared him a passing glance before crossing the room and placing the bag on top of the counter.

"Um, it's nice," he said.

She faced him, looking quite unimpressed. "You don't have to flatter me, Shepard. I am not that type of girl."

He looked around again to avoid meeting her eyes. "Okay," he said innocently.

On the bright side he felt somewhat less like a stranger now. It's not like there was a lot to take in. There also weren't any personal items strewn about that he wouldn't be able to understand. It was a little disheartening because he wanted so badly _to_ understand, but there was only so much he could do.

"You look disappointed."

"No, no," he said. "I just didn't picture you living like this." He frowned. "I'm not sure how I pictured you living, actually."

Remy was in the kitchen now. She reached over and began fiddling with something on the underside of one of the high cabinets. "Well don't be too concerned. I don't spend a lot of time here."

"Ever? It's your apartment."

She lifted a shoulder and glanced at him. "It's an apartment."

"There are others," he said, not even bothering to ask. "More game shows?"

"Let's just I'm privately funded," she said. "These places exist exactly for reasons such as this. To provide a safe place to stop for a few hours."

He raised an eyebrow. "You often find yourself on the run?"

"Only when I have an annoying sidekick."

Shepard rolled his eyes and took a few steps toward her to get a better look at what she was doing. "Are you checking a gun?"

"Yeah I would be, if I didn't have to answer inane questions," she said. Finally something made a small click, and she wrestled a pistol from a secret compartment.

It was an older Predator model, similar to the ones the Alliance gave out to their marines today. The sight of it alone sparked something comfortable inside of him. He suddenly realized how much he'd been missing the familiar security of a weapon.

"That for me?" he said.

She paused for the briefest of seconds. "Maybe later," she said. "Once I can be sure you're ready."

"For a gun?" he sputtered. "I'm a soldier. Of course I'm ready."

Remy wrinkled her nose. "You blew up a Prothean artifact yesterday," she said. "Baby steps."

"Yeah, but I'm fine."

"Really?" she said. "You're fine? Do you have any idea how that thing affected your faculties?"

The easy answer was "not at all" but he doubted she'd believe that. He didn't even know if he believed it. "Um, well of course not," he said. "But I feel great."

"Neither do I. So if you wake up one day thinking you're a sleeper agent, or a jellyfish, or my husband," she said, smirking at the last one, "I want to be prepared."

Shepard shook his head and grumbled, but otherwise gave up the notion for now. He could always pocket it later. He waited until she was done giving it a final once-over before he changed the subject. "Listen, I was hoping I'd get the chance to bathe while we were here," he said. "I didn't know if you wanted to-"'

"There was a shower on the freighter," she said, still looking at the gun instead of him.

That was news to him. He still remembered the cramped sink and mirror in the compartment that barely allowed him to stand up straight. "Okay," he said. "Well I do. I'm sure I still smell like death and zombie."

"The bathroom is down the hallway to your left," she said, indicating with a tip of her head.

The dismissal was clear enough, so he left her with a nod.

"And there's no such thing as zombies," she called out after him.

 

* * *

 

In the bathroom at the end of the hall, Shepard stood before the mirror trying to recall how he ended up here. Electric light shined evenly onto the polished metal of the sink. Cool air swept under the frame of the door and slid across his bare feet. The shower water droned on and on, beating against the glass pane. Not even 48 hours ago he had been in his own pitiful bathroom and his main dilemma had been deciding what tie to wear to work.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. His _biggest_ problem probably wouldn't even be called a problem by most people. But nowadays that wasn't something he allowed himself to think about outside of his nightmares and late September, when the anniversary of the Blitz came around. The warm mist drifted out of the shower and snapped him out of it.

The hot water felt so relaxing that Shepard almost fell asleep several times. His body had been cramped and worn out from sleeping on lounge chairs a size too small for him. Now he felt like he could melt into the floor and never get up. He bent down and examined his head in the small mounted mirror next to the soap. He checked it once and then again, parting his hair in every way imaginable, before finally concluding that the gash had more or less healed. It was a small victory but so little had gone his way these past couple of days that he felt a small surge of adrenaline.

After a few more minutes he grudgingly shut off the stream and grabbed the towel he'd draped over the door. It was only after he'd stepped out that Shepard realized he had nothing to change into. That meant his only option was what he'd only recently begun to dread having to do: ask Remy for help.

It was peculiar how quickly their relationship had taken on a punchy, irritable quality. Shepard knew that he often annoyed her to no end. But he liked to rationalize that under the persona and sophistication there was someone else, someone that could enjoy life instead of simply tolerating it.

Or at least that's what he was telling himself anyway.

It hadn't been anything like this in Rhode Island. It wasn't exactly perfect, but there were a whole slew of other reasons for that. Ones that didn't involve the two of them. Of course, he supposed, back then they were also partners. Equals. Now they were . . . he didn't know what they were.

"Remy," he called out through the door. He gave her a second to respond, but it was doubtful she could hear him from all the way over in the kitchen. "Hey," he said. He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door. "Rem-Ah!"

She was standing just outside, her face maybe a foot away from where he poked his head out and her hand reaching for the doorknob. The surprise forced him to take several steps back and fling the door open fully. For as calm and cool as Remy usually was, even she allowed her mouth to hang open a bit.

"I . . . I was-" She paused for a second and then looked away very deliberately. "I heard you," she finished lamely.

"Yeah, I figured," he said. He noted the way she glanced at him when he spoke before looking away again almost as quickly.

"Well is everything alright?" she said when he didn't continue.

"Oh, yeah. No, it's fine."

Remy still had her head turned away from him, her arms now crossed in front of her. It was very dignified, but he knew her well enough by now to know she was uncomfortable. She stole another glance before he spoke up again.

"I just realized that all I had with me were my old-" Shepard turned to gesture to his uniform as he spoke and caught a glimpse of himself dripping wet and half-naked in the mirror. He stifled the instinctual yelp and yanked the door shut, leaving just enough space for his head to poke through. He coughed to clear his voice of the squeak that was still lodged in his throat. "Clothes," he said. "I don't have any clothes."

Shepard thought he heard her mutter something about that being obvious, but she left so quickly he wasn't entirely sure. He shut the door carefully and exhaled. He slowly slunk down to the floor, feeling equal parts embarrassed and thwarted. Most of the time the way she commanded his complete attention did not end up working out for him.

He reached out toward his pile of discarded clothing next to the toilet. At the very least he could salvage the boots. With his description most likely out to every Alliance outpost and beyond, anything else would probably be too risky to wear out in public much longer.

A soft knock on the door behind him alerted Shepard to her presence. Not wanting to face her after what just happened, he did little else besides shifting forward, cracking open the door and sticking his hand out. Thankfully she seemed to feel the same way, because she placed a small pile of clothes on his palm and left wordlessly.

After a few minutes he reluctantly spread the stack of clothing. Dark colors, nondescript designs. It was enough to draw as little notice as possible while simultaneously making him incredibly conspicuous for anyone that did bother to pay any attention. Shepard had seen enough vids. All he needed was a mask and he'd look like he was ready to raid an Asari museum.

Shepard wasn't a hulking guy by any means, certainly not by soldier standards. And these clothes were only an inch or two away from being a good fit. They would probably fit someone like Jacob perfectly. That implication almost knocked him over and Shepard shook his head violently to will away that line of thought.

He got dressed as quickly as possible before any more disturbing inferences wriggled into his head. He opened the door carefully this time and slowly shuffled his way down the hall.

"Thank you," he said, smoothing out a few wrinkles once he saw her.

She was at the bar looking into the kitchen. In front of her was a sizeable box that she was quietly sifting through. After taking a second to note his appearance she made one final search through the container.

"Stick out your arm," she said, sounding satisfied.

"What?"

She repeated herself, slower and with a hint of impatience and he haltingly complied. When she turned to him he could see she was holding something that resembled the old laser guns he saw in cartoons as a kid.

"What is that thing?" he said.

Remy approached and turned her back to him, cradling his arm and running a soft hand over his forearm. She pointed the device and pulled the trigger. Shepard heard a click and felt a sharp sting on his wrist.

"Ow. What's going on?" he said. "Are you suddenly too brilliant for explanations?"

Remy pulled back to examine her handiwork. "Don't be so dramatic," she said. "It's an omni-tool. The last time I stocked this place was years ago, so it's an older model. But it should be more than enough for what we need."

When she stepped away Shepard immediately brought his wrist up to his face, scanning the area where he felt the pinch. The bullet-sized chips that controlled the technology were normally injected higher up in the forearm to allow for greater flexibility of movement. Of course, the shots were also usually accompanied with at least a little bit of lidocaine.

He turned his arm over and finally found the point of entry, a small spot of blood the only evidence that anything had happened. Though what he was actually looking for seemed to elude him. Generally when you switched out omni-tools, that included the removal of your old one. The body couldn't support more than one active at a time, so his previous one must have been taken out. Since the removal procedure was a little more invasive than a point and shoot, it usually left some kind of temporary mark. But he must have checked over his forearm at least four or five times and still found nothing.

Shepard finally gave up. He looked to Remy, who seemed busy searching through an oversized dresser in front of him.

"So," he said, "where exactly-"

"Hm," she muttered, getting down on her knees and reaching into a bottom drawer. She pulled out what looked like a flare gun and tucked it into one of the large duffel bags he'd seen her dragging around. She zipped it up and looked at him. "What did you say?"

He realized he'd been staring at the gun and snapped his eyes back to her. "No, I just - I was wondering about my other omni-tool. I couldn't find any signs of scarring."

"Oh." She paused. "You were still blacked out, and it's not as if I had access to surgical equipment on board a transport ship."

"Okay," he said, not entirely sure what that was supposed to mean. "So it's still active?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I'm an outright moron? That's an Alliance-issued device. It has several forms of built-in tracking. If I left that thing operational, we would've been caught long before we stopped at Omega."

One day he would have to make it clear to her that non-answers didn't actually tell him anything. "Well, what happened to it?"

"It's shut off," she said. She hesitated by the high white counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. "I overloaded it."

"You what?" Whatever answer he'd been expecting, it wasn't that.

She crossed into the kitchen and fished a datapad out of another bag. The creak in his voice made her glance up at him. "Relax, you were unconscious."

"You shocked me," he said, trying to keep it from sounding like a whine. He rubbed the spot near his elbow where he knew the chip was implanted. It didn't hurt, but still. She'd used her biotics on him, on purpose, without telling him. That felt like crossing some kind of line.

She finally set the datapad down and gave him her full attention. "Oh, stop it. You're being ridiculous. The chip overheated and probably caused some muscle soreness for a few hours. Fortunately, you were too busy teetering on the edge of death to really notice it."

"Fine," he said. It was the obvious solution to keep them out of jail, and he knew _was_ being ridiculous. Still, something about the idea that she'd go as far as using offensive biotics on him while he slept — and then not tell him about it — just initially unnerved him. Maybe it was the lying that bothered him more than anything else. How far would she go on her own in the name of doing what was best for him?

"Can I get back to packing now?" she said.

'Uh, yeah," he said after a moment's pause. "I could help you, you know. You don't have to do this all by yourself."

"It's fine, Shepard. I'm the one that dragged you into this mess. I'll handle what I can."

Shepard didn't see much point in arguing that none of this was her fault, so he walked across the room and slumped into the leather couch. It was probably prudent to familiarize himself with his new technology before they were off on their journey again, so he started up the omni-tool and began tinkering.

After almost ten minutes, he'd still made very little progress. Remy wasn't kidding when she said this model was old. It didn't look like anything he recognized, which likely meant it was originally high-end, but the processes it was running dated it back at least five, if not ten, years. So absorbed was he in the workings of his new device, that he almost missed Remy stopping her work in the kitchen and walking down the adjoining hallway into a guest room.

Shepard finally managed to pull up the correct interface and tapped a few buttons to access the messaging service. If what she told him at the coffee shop was true, he'd need to learn to start fending for himself sooner than later. And that meant he needed resources and contacts, people he could lean on if he needed help. She'd probably scoff at the idea of having to rely on others, but that wasn't how he was used to living.

There was one man he'd been dying to speak to ever since things on Eden Prime went sideways. Anderson was the only person outside of his family that he'd ever gone to for advice in his entire life. It felt wrong to keep him in the dark on something like this and it made him sick that the only information his mentor was getting was fed from the same people that wanted Shepard imprisoned for murder.

Shepard used this opportunity to be alone to fire off a quick message to Anderson. He kept it short, only telling his commanding officer the basics: that it was him, that he was innocent, and that Anderson shouldn't believe anything he hears until they get a chance to talk. Remy probably wouldn't approve of something like this either. Contacting anyone, especially a member of the Alliance, would surely give her fits. Shepard didn't care though. He needed to open up a dialogue with somebody that actually _wanted_ to talk to him or he was going to go nuts. Someone of Anderson's stature got hundreds of anonymous messages every day. One more wouldn't make a difference.

"I found you some clothes," Remy said, walking back into the room with another gym bag slung over her shoulder.

"W-what?" he said, although it sounded like more of a gulp. He cleared his throat and quickly shut off the omni-tool. "What was it that, um, you were saying?"

She narrowed her eyes at him curiously. "Your clothes," she said, and held up the bag so he could see. "They might be a little big for you, but at least it's something."

Shepard sat back and tried to look casual. "Oh. Yeah. How exactly do you know my size?"

She looked him up and down and Shepard tried to suppress the involuntary shiver. "Please. I sized you up the moment I met you."

Before he could process exactly what that meant, she tossed him the bag. It landed on his chest with a thump, eliciting a grunt. He put both hands under it and set it down on the floor next to the couch. Remy was back in the kitchen again, evidently having paused her work to go and get his things settled.

He thought of again trying to ask about her employer and their destination and his role in all of this. But he could sense that at the moment her patience was beginning to wear thin, and, as had been the case since the day he met her, Shepard wanted her to like him more than he wanted answers.

He peeked up over the counter for a moment and spied some packaged food stacked on top of the stove next a pile of knives. That was the only look he got though, having to plop back down before she turned away from the cabinet she was rifling through and caught him.

Shepard craned his head to look down the hallway next to him. It was on the opposite side of the apartment from the one she just came from, and looked like it only connected to two rooms. One, he could see, was another bathroom. It seemed rather small, but it looked to have everything that one might need. He didn't have as much luck with the other room. It was shut tight, no light peeking out from under the door.

He realized then what had been nagging at the back of his mind since he walked through the front door. It was this apartment. The place looked abandoned. Yet it was stocked with food, clothes, weapons and running water. The way she'd crept in, then vanished and came back with him barely noticing . . . nothing felt right. Shepard looked over his shoulder again. Either he was in a ghost story, or.. maybe there was something in here worth hiding.

After making sure Remy was busy loading up whatever was so important, Shepard took one last look at the kitchen and slinked down the hallway. The back room was the only place in the apartment he'd yet to explore, and he suspected it was the bedroom. He didn't quite know what to expect, but that didn't mean he was unprepared. It was easier to brace yourself when you didn't rule out any possibilities. A torture chamber, a dead body, a depraved pornography collection, not much would've been able to surprise him. One of the advantages of being clueless, he supposed.

He eked the door open, careful to make as little noise as possible. Considering she could probably hear him if he started breathing too heavy, his sneaking around was already precarious. The bedroom looked much like the rest of the home, which was endlessly disappointing. It was mind-numbingly plain, devoid of any personal flair or attention. The dresser and small nightstands were made of dark oak, which matched the front door. The bed was expertly made; the sheets and comforter looked like the same gloomy ivory that coated every wall and countertop. There was a round desk in the corner, but it too was stripped bare. The most impressive thing about the room was the view from the large bow window on the far wall, and that was something that came with the place anyway.

Shepard walked over and stood in front of the window. The sight of the entire east end of the city laid out before him certainly was striking. He took it in for a second before letting his eyes fall to the ground. His time in here was limited and he couldn't afford to get distracted. He knelt down so that he was at eye-level with the bay in front of him. He blew out a breath, and then coughed when the dust blew back in his face. Using his finger he collected the thick layer of dirt off of the bay's surface. Nobody had been in here in months, maybe years.

Shepard stood up and gave one final look around. He would've taken a ghost at this point. At least that would've been something. He sighed.

If Remy hadn't already noticed that he'd vanished, she no doubt would soon. After all, this was the same woman that was worried about letting herself _sleep_ around him. He was about to trudge back out to the living room when something caught his eye.

It was the large wooden dresser on the other side of the room. One of the top drawers was cracked open a fraction of an inch. The angle made it impossible to see from the door where he'd first noted the dresser. It looked like something black and square-shaped was peeking out of it. Shepard walked over and, after listening for movement from the hallway, plucked it out. It was a framed photo, about twice as big as his hand — the kind that you'd normally leave up on the nightstand to display, not discard in a dresser to be forgotten.

It was a photograph of Remy, or, failing that, her twin. Even as the logical part of his brain tried to tell him that last part was preposterous, he mentally shrugged. He really had no idea. Remy cradled a sleeping baby in her arms, looking down at it dreamily. They were outside on a patio, or maybe outside at some kind of tourist rest stop. He briefly considered what kind of rest stops would have oceanfront views, but he was way too absorbed in scrutinizing this scene to delve into frivolousness.

The picture itself didn't look like anything special. It certainly didn't seem worthy of being the only personalized possession in this entire apartment. Remy looked only a few years younger than the counterpart he had come to know but decades different in demeanor. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and the black blouse she wore did little to hide the bruises and scrapes on her arms and neck. Sunlight crashed through the skylight above her and spilled messily over her shoulders. A dark ocean began at the horizon and continued until it and the beach were hidden by several high sand dunes. Behind them sat a deep turquoise sky, perfect for getting lost in, for becoming untethered, for running away and never looking back. Okay, maybe he was projecting a little bit.

His fingers brushed over something smooth and raised on the opposite side. He turned the holo over and saw that there was some kind of engraving on the back of it. The small, rectangular bronze plaque was barely bigger than his thumb, and the edges of it were worn, as if it had been through a lot. The message itself was only one line long.

_Miri: Somewhere between the point when you're determined enough to do whatever it takes and too desperate to care, remember where you came from._

He didn't know what "Miri" was. His best guess was that it was the name of the baby in her arms. That meant that "it" was actually a she. He frowned. Shepard had spent so long studying the scene like a math problem he hadn't bothered to actually _look_ at it.

He flipped the frame back over and looked again. He could see it now. The tuft of brown hair atop her head, the puff of her cheeks, and the faded pink trim on the white one-piece she wore, it was no doubt she was a girl. She was resting softly in Remy's arms, her eyes closed and one arm wrapped around her guardian's wrist. Their matching skin tones left no doubt that the two were closely related.

Looking at Remy, as embarrassing as it was to admit, took his breath away. Her eyes shone with an eager gleam, and her smile was dazzling. She didn't smile like that very often. Actually, he'd never seen her smile like _that_. In a way it reminded him of the way she slept. Serene. Unburdened. Happy.

He took back his earlier thought about this not being anything special.

It was way too late that he realized he'd gone way over the time he allotted himself to poke around in here. Shepard could feel her approaching before he actually heard her, something he could likely chalk up to his sense of impending doom. When she noticed what he had in his hand, she took in a sharp breath that, for anyone else, would have approached a gasp. A few moments later she still hadn't said anything. Whether it was from anger slowly boiling over or slack-jawed shock, Shepard didn't know, but it was making him nervous.

He decided to speak first. And not because he wanted to get out ahead of the conversation or try to deflect her anger. Part of him was genuinely touched by what he saw. _This_ was the woman he'd dreamt about for years. The one he'd met yesterday that seemed to enjoy leading him around like a child was too, kind of, but lately he'd start to question if he knew who she truly was. This picture probably told him more than she ever could.

When he finally spoke, he kept his voice soft.

"You look like her mom."

A few more seconds passed and he still hadn't gotten any sort of response. Part of him regretted it, but not enough to clarify or apologize.

Shepard began to grow nervous. She could overlook the act of snooping, probably, if he hadn't found anything. But this . . . this was unplanned and out of her control and completely _personal_.

Remy stepped in front of him to look him in the eye, bumping his shoulder when she brushed past him. She did not look happy. It was a cheap power play — to force him to see how furious she was — but he sort of deserved it.

"Give me that," she said, although it sounded like more of a growl.

The holo was snatched out of his grasp, and she kicked open one of the bottom drawers. Remy let the picture slip easily from her hand and drop into the cabinet below, slamming it shut before the frame even hit the bottom. From the muffled crunch Shepard heard, he doubted it survived the fall.

Shepard didn't know what to say. He continued to stare at the drawer, feeling rooted to the spot. It was almost as if she was more angry at the memory than she was with him, except that didn't make any sense. Remy glared at him one final time before moving somewhere behind him.

"Are you?" he said finally.

Silence was the only answer. When he turned, the door was open, and he was alone.

 

* * *

 

**1543 HRS, May 11, 2183**

**Tasale System, Crescent Nebula**

If he thought they were on shaky speaking terms before, her behavior once they left the apartment redefined his idea of a frigid wife. She was distant and clipped and entirely not the woman he was used to. He'd seen traces of this, in her demeanor and in her speech, but almost never when dealing with him. It reminded him of the way she'd reacted when he had accused her of sleeping with Jacob on the night they met. It made sense, he reasoned. Both were truths that hit way too close to the heart for someone like her who preferred to keep everyone as far away as possible. He was just having a hard time wrapping his head around the idea of her as a mother. It seemed so foreign, so unlike the things he would've guessed she aspired to. This discovery was much more curious and much less depressing than its counterpart, but she'd left him just as in the dark about it.

Shepard didn't press much, for now. He had many reasons to want them to get to their destination as soon as possible. Getting to finally sleep in a real bed probably shouldn't rank so high among them, but he didn't care. According to her timeline, which took a great deal of prodding to get revealed, within six hours they'd be somewhere safe. She still wouldn't divulge exactly where that is or what was supposed to happen after all that, but as long as they were safe, he could worry about it later..

Right now they were once again on board a civilian passenger liner. Although with the credits collected from Remy's apartment, they were able to afford much better accommodations this time around. The ship itself was enormous. Its entire top level was devoted to passenger's rooms, and the living quarters area was laid out like a train cabin. Rooms were scattered along either side of the long narrow hallways. The ship's deckhouse ended just over their heads, allowing for both sides to have rooms with staggering views. The hallways themselves existed in about 50 meter chunks before ending in a combination of steel doors. These served as airlocks and access to exits for the thousands of potential passengers. Shepard had reluctantly looked over a rudimentary blueprint of the vessel he'd been shown (something about the "ever-present need for prudence" or so he'd been told), and from what he could tell, these self-serving "sections" lined the entire length of the top of the ship, all connecting to each other. All in all, it was a radical change from the rudimentary style he'd been traveling in so far.

Remy sat across from him staring out the window, her face a continual blank mask. Several times he almost opened his mouth to ask her a question, but by this point he knew it was futile if the answer was of any import. He sighed. Some things, unfortunately, hadn't changed.

Shepard wondered about her life and the life of the baby in her arms. He was usually pretty good with faces, and the Remy he saw looked old enough to pass as a college student, maybe. By his best guess, that would make her only a few years younger than she was now. Shepard frowned. That couldn't be right. There was no way she was younger than him, even if only by a few years. Of course she also looked better than any extranet supermodel he'd ever seen, so it was possible the picture was as old as six or seven years ago, which would fit. That would put all of this taking place before they'd ever met, which was the only explanation that made any sense. Shepard felt a dull pain and shook his head to bring a curtain down on his brain. Trying to reconstruct a timeline only gave him a headache.

If the baby was even alive, why was she nowhere to be found? How and why the baby got separated from her mother was a saddening train of thought, even more so if that how and why that had anything to do with making Remy into the person she was today. The only thing he did know was that he'd likely never find out any of it. It reminded him of just how transient their relationship seemed to be. And that was depressing.

He sighed again. Remy noticed it (because she notices everything) and she looked over to him, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. She couldn't possibly read what he was thinking, but the thought still made him anxious. Shepard broke eye contact quickly, then realized how guilty that made him seem and shut his eyes instead. He didn't want to think about questions he would never get answers to anymore, nor did he want to be admonished for not sleeping while he had the opportunity. So he leaned back against the seat, kept his eyes closed and pretended he was asleep. And before long, he really was.

 

* * *

 

**1929 HRS, May 11, 2183**

**Watson, Skepsis System, Sigurd's Cradle**

"Shepard."

He rolled over but could only muster a small groan.

"Shepard, get up."

The harshness of her tone finally made it through his sleep haze and he opened his eyes.

"Huh?" he said, his voice thick with sleep. "What is it?"

He slowly sat up and upon coming face to face with her, Remy's expression immediately sobered him. Her pupils were one size too big, and her breaths came in just a hair faster than normal. Her arms were folded in front of her defensively as she peered out the window. One hand rested under her jacket on the spot he knew housed her gun, while the other slowly tapped her elbow. She was freaked out. It was subtle, but it was there.

"We have a problem," she said, still watching the window.

Shepard got up and moved to sit next to her so that he could see what she was seeing. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. From what she'd told him, they were just stopping at one last colony after Illium to get to their ship. From there she would take him off-world again to wherever the safe house was located. Shepard scooted close, but not too close, and looked out to the docking bay.

When he did so, his stomach plummeted. The split terminal area outside was sparsely populated. Though their ship had begun disembarking the lower levels, most of the crowd gave a wide berth to the group waiting in the center. Standing in the docking bay and dressed in combat uniforms, stood row after row of Alliance MPs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know cliffhangers are lame but I had to stop the chapter here. I couldn't jump into the action and push this even longer. I also meant to post this right after the third chapter and just totally forgot. Whoops. Regardless, we're now caught up with FF.net and will stay that way for the future.
> 
> Overall I was actually fairly happy with how this one turned out. Right now we're roughly halfway through the first "arc" of the story which will conclude a little bit down the line, and will allow our heroes to stop running around and start doing some ME-plot related things : )


	5. And Now I'm Nothing

**1933 HRS, May 11, 2183**

**Watson, Skepsis System, Sigurd's Cradle**

Her response was almost instant. Or maybe it just seemed that way because he was feeling a thousand miles away. The Alliance was _here_.

"Come on. We don't have much time." She was on her feet before she finished the sentence. With a mechanical calmness, she reached under their seat to jerk out one of their bags and immediately tossed it on the opposite lounge seat.

He looked at it, then back down to where she retrieved it from and frowned.

"That's one bag," he said. "Where are the other five?"

She unzipped the bag and began rummaging through it. "Well," she said, seemingly paying little attention to him. "We are in first class. I imagine a small courier departed ahead of our arrival time to transport our remaining luggage."

"Then what's so special about this on-" Shepard stood up and stopped short when he got a peek over her shoulder. The few pistols and other things designed to inflict bodily harm that were buried under some towels answered his question well enough. "Oh."

She was digging through the guns to the bottom of the bag and he was about to ask what she was looking for when she jerked around so fast that he almost fell over taking a step backward. It wasn't something that would inspire confidence, but it was far from the most embarrassing thing he'd done in her company.

"Here," she said, handing him an earpiece "They'll be monitoring all communication channels, so I'm shutting down our omni-tools for now. This technology is older, but it's more heavily encrypted. Use it if you need to talk." She clipped a flat, grape-sized disk to the inside of her jacket sleeve and popped her own earbud in after him.

"You mean if we get split up," he said.

"Actually I was thinking more along the lines of me pushing you in the direction of the nearest taxi service."

"That's your grand escape plan? Fly me halfway across the galaxy and shove me into a skycar?" He frowned. "I'm not leaving you behind."

"Well, for one they care much more about getting you than whatever happens to me. And to answer your question . . ." She reached into the bag and pulled out a pistol along with what he had first deemed at the apartment to be a flare gun. "I never said we were running."

There was a flash of a smirk on her face and then she was through the cabin door before he had fully processed her implication. Shepard darted after her, but not before reaching in and grabbing the last gun in the bag. He noted absentmindedly that it was the same one she'd refused to give him earlier. Just as he'd planned.

Remy had reached the small room in-between the passenger hallways before he caught up with her.

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa," he said, taking a deep breath.

"What?" she said as she turned to him. Impatience was written all over her face, but at least she cared enough to keep it out of her voice.

"This squad, they're just soldiers," he said. "They're not the enemy. They're innocent people just trying to do their jobs and you're going to go out there and open fire on them?" He hadn't intended this speech to be this so self-righteous, but it was too late now. "Shooting at Alliance Marines isn't exactly the best way to prove that I didn't execute a Spectre. They're here to take me in, not to kill me."

She eyed him carefully. "You don't know that," she said. "There's nothing stopping them from taking the shot once you're out in the open."

Suddenly he was back in that shuttle on Eden Prime, trying to convince her that the simplest way of doing things is almost never the _right_ way. It was a testament to the impact she'd had on him that he didn't even mentally question her chances of success in a fight where she was outnumbered at least twenty to one.

Shepard looked out the small window on his left. The station seemed mostly empty, aside from the last few passengers trickling off of the other side of the ship. A few soldiers stepped on after one particularly large krogan got off. He turned back to look at her and knew she'd seen it too. They were running out of time.

He studied the determined glint in her eye, but couldn't make heads or tails of how she was really feeling. If she was still angry about what happened at the apartment, it wouldn't do his argument any favors. He knew he was right on principle — she wasn't cruel enough to _want_ to handle things this way. But he got the faintest feeling that when it came to succeeding or failing, she was ultimately willing to sideline her morals.

"I know," he said.

"Then what do you suggest?" she said, her tone now matching her expression. "Because we're losing time and they're gaining ground, and we have a remote chance of survival if we stand here like arguing like children."

Okay, so she was still mad. "Then let's not get seen," he said.

She stared at him for a long moment and Shepard felt like it was his life, rather than that of the marines, that hung in the balance. Eventually she pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered under her breath but motioned for him to follow.

They left the passengers' quarters and descended down through the depths of the ship. She had told him that this was the ship's final stop for now, so only a skeleton crew remained on board. The Alliance would never risk causing a panic on the colony by coming out and announcing that they were boarding to hunt a fugitive, but Shepard could hear the whispers of the crew as he and Remy passed them. A salarian in one of the kitchens mentioned something about shipboard cargo being seized. Word about the soldiers seemed to be travelling slowly and he was thankful that somehow they'd ended up taking the right path.

Actually, he knew the reason. It was because she was leading them. And she had come up with some kind of plan, despite him changing the directive at the very last moment. At this point she could tell him she was also secretly a biotiball champion and he doubted he would bat an eye. It was probably a bad idea — to unquestionably trust someone you knew basically nothing about. But with how superhuman she was sometimes it was hard not to feel that way. If they made it out of this alive, he'd have to remember to be grateful.

Shepard thought he knew enough about Alliance protocol to be of some help but, as she was quick to remind him, yesterday was his first time in the field in years. He also couldn't shake the feeling that she seemed to know just as much, if not more, than him anyway.

After crossing through the kitchen and its adjoining dining room she led them into a rather large maintenance closet that also housed a ladder to the lower level. It was a tight fit but Shepard managed to climb down a few moments after she effortlessly descended in one sliding motion.

The smoke in the dimly lit room below was almost overwhelming. Shepard had to cover his mouth with his shirt just to keep from coughing. The area had enough pipes and machinery to pass for a boiler room and it was honestly starting to creep him out. If this were a horror vid, the killer wouldn't be lurking too far away. He was feeling less sure about whatever plan she was concocting.

"You sure you know where you're going?" he said.

She stepped over a pipe that he surely would've tripped over if she hadn't been in front of him. "Well if I don't," she said, easing open the door and checking the outer hallway, "that's going to make it that much more impressive when I get us out of here."

He smiled, and was glad that she couldn't see it.

"Yeah, yeah." he said, nearing the doorway himself. "If it's alright with you, I'll wait until later to get your autograph. What?"

She had stopped just inside the hallway and held a palm back toward him. But there was no way he was stopping and staying in this creepy room any longer, especially if it was going to be by himself. Shepard took a step out to join her but forgot to brace the door. A few seconds later it banged shut. Shepard winced. He was never cut out for spy work.

She swung around to fix him with a cold stare. "Would you be quiet?" she whispered. Her entire body was perked up like an antenna. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear wha-" he started to say before she clamped a hand over his mouth.

A couple of seconds passed by in pure silence. Shepard would have sworn on his father's grave that there was absolutely nothing happening within earshot, but, even after three years, he still remembered his last experience with her incredible hearing. He remembered a lot of things about her, actually.

In the next moment they were no longer two people standing in a hallway. She had pushed him back against the door and was standing way closer than his brain could handle. Her head was buried in the crook of his neck and he felt something very wet on his neck and collarbone. It took a few seconds to realize that she was _kissing_ him, and by then he had forgotten everything that had happened since he left Vancouver.

She was warm and gentle and it made his head spin. He realized how rigid he'd been standing and tried to relax, which allowed her to cuddle even closer. Her hair spilled out onto his chest and it took everything in him not to bury his face in it. Maybe that's what he was supposed to be doing in this situation. Actually he really didn't care about deciphering the specifics of what exactly was going on, as long as she didn't stop.

For the most part he was proud of himself for not outright freaking out. His hands had almost naturally fallen to her waist when she shoved him, while hers were clutching his back. But other than that he had not moved more than an inch or two. He shut his eyes, mostly because it was easier without the visual provocation. But also because he was feeling something so powerful that he couldn't even process it.

It was fake, of course. That piece of information at least served as a life raft for him to grab. She was good at this. The faking, he mentally corrected, not the . . . other stuff. The only thing that gave her away was the inch-wide invisible gap she left in-between their bodies. If this were real, her chest would be pressed much more snugly against his frame and God he had to start thinking about something else.

Her mouth had worked its way up to his ear now. "Relax," she whispered and it sent a wave of heat down his spine. "We're almost out of here."

Then she went back to doing other things that he was trying not to focus on. As long as she didn't actually full-on kiss him, he might be able to keep his brain from short-circuiting. Fate must have felt sorry for him because the next thing he noticed was a crewman rounding the near corner. The turian was wearing the same white suit get-up he'd seen on the ship's security force. All in all, the entire ordeal probably didn't last more than a handful of seconds, but it sure felt like an eternity.

"Hey!" the turian said. "You can't be here. We're docked for the next 72 hours and the Alliance has business on this ship."

Thankfully she pushed off the door and took a step back. Shepard gasped, realizing that he hadn't been breathing. Her look was coy and her laugh almost resembled a giggle.

"I'm sorry mister Alliance man," she said, her accent gone. "My fiancé and I were just looking for someplace to be alone." She looked at his feet. "Our cabin is just _so_ far away," she whined.

"What? I'm not Alli . . . How could that possibly-" The turian shook his head. "Look, we're here. If you want to continue on to Thessia, you're going to have to buy a ticket. Either way you need to disembark immediately while the Alliance handles their affairs."

"So we're not in any trouble?" she said, flashing him one of her brilliant smiles, the kind that normally made Shepard's knees weak.

"Not as long as you know your way out," the security guard grumbled. "I don't get paid enough to babysit."

"Yes sir," she said, giving him a goofy salute.

She reached out with one hand and took hold of Shepard's shirt. With a yank, she pulled him from his slumped position against the door and up onto his feet. The force with which she did so brought him close enough so that she could reach out, loop her arm around his back and pull him close.

She looked at Shepard. "You're not off the hook yet, honey," she said, pinching his side. "You still owe me after what I did for you on our way over here."

With that she began to lead him down the hallway in the direction the turian had appeared.

"She's the boss," Shepard said, giving the guard a weak grin.

The turian rolled his eyes. "I can see that," he mumbled.

Once they had rounded several corners and put considerable distance between themselves and the security guard, they shrugged out of each other's grasp.

"That was, um, smooth," he said.

"You and I have very different definitions of the word smooth," she said. Remy paused to scope out an intersecting hallway before proceeding. "They're getting close. It doesn't take them as long as you'd think to canvass a ship. We don't have long."

"You know your cynicism can be exhausting. You can't take two seconds to recognize that ridiculous plan worked? I think it was Shakespeare that wrote about a candlelight in a weary wor-"

"Shepard, get down!" She launched herself and speared him into a short alcove at the same moment he turned to see the Alliance soldiers rounding the corner. One of them had tossed a grenade and Shepard caught sight of it in mid-air before she smashed him into the wall. The grenade flew past them and the sound of it a few feet down the hall drowned out whatever she said next.

Shepard gaped for breath, her tackle completely knocking the wind out of him. She pushed him back against the wall and poked her head around the corner only momentarily before he heard some more yelling in the distance.

She brought her face back to his and lifted an eyebrow a fraction of an inch. "Still think they're not trying to kill us?"

Before he could point out that it looked like that had been a stun grenade, several bullets impacted the wall behind them. Shepard felt his stomach drop. It was possible those were non-lethal rounds, but it wasn't like he was going to stick around to find out.

She inclined to the door to their left as more gunfire echoed down the hallway. "Let's go," she said, her shouting voice at normal volume with all the ringing in his ears.

And so they went. At more or less a full-on sprint, they bounded through several winding pathways and doors that led to intersecting hallways and more doors. Even if he had been paying full attention when she showed him the map of the ship, he would certainly be lost by now.

"I don't remember this part of the ship on your blueprints," he called out between heavy breaths. It was technically the truth.

"That's because it wasn't."

"Great, I feel better," he mumbled as they found a small staircase that went down a level.

She paused at the doorway and turned to him. "Can I ask you something? What was it that happened to you?" She kept her voice neutral. "The John Shepard I read about was the Hero of the Alliance. Took out the entire Elysium Batarian command by himself with one frigate. Now you're struggling just to make it off of a ship?"

He'd expected this line of questioning when they first met and was relieved when it never came. Being interrogated, especially about this, always annoyed him somewhat. "Well maybe this imaginary brave champion also crashed said frigate. Spent five months in the hospital. And now he has some difficulty marathoning endless hallways."

She took a step toward him. "Except your back is fine. It seems more like you're afraid."

He chucked humorlessly. "Is there a point to this aside? Or do you take a certain joy in turning riddles into theories?"

Remy frowned. "I think you're hiding something. And whatever it is, it's hampering your ability to do your job."

He gave her a fake smile. "I'm not. But I'm really glad we stopped for this life lesson."

"I think maybe you've forgotten that your life isn't the only one that's at risk right now." Her gaze was shrewd. "If there's something bothering you, just say it."

"And I take your concern entirely at face value," he said, trying to reign in his sarcasm.

She gave a half shrug. "I'm not concerned; I'm frustrated. I can't lead us through this mess if there's contingencies I can't prepare for."

His voice finally gave way to his impatience. "You're not frustrated. You're curious. I forgot a map, Remy. If I accidentally shoot myself, then maybe we can talk."

Remy stared at him for a long moment. He broke eye contact, pushed past her and headed down the stairs. It wasn't much longer before she shook her head and followed him.

Shepard shut the door to the stairs behind them and looked around. Wherever this was, it was more of a nook than a new floor. At the end of the rather long corridor sat a single door, which, if this ship made any sense, was locked.

She led him, cautiously, down the hallway, gun drawn. When they got to the door she held out a hand to stop him in place and put her ear to it. Hoping to hear anything through the thick metal door was ridiculous, even for her. After a few seconds she drew back and tried the door handle, gently at first and, when she saw it give she wrenched the door open.

The flurry of her movement startled Shepard more than anything. She canvassed the room in under a second, her weapon at the ready. He didn't even bother moving from his position. The room wasn't that big, and even from here he could see that everything was clear.

It took a few stumbling steps to get him into the room and once he was there, he saw that he hadn't seen everything there was to see from his spot in the hallway. Shelves and shelves of datapads and boxes lined the far wall and the one next to the door he'd just entered. A rather small desk stacked with a few datapads, a smashed frame and an aged terminal sat in the center of the room. Remy sat on the edge of the desk and messed with the small lamp that had been toppled over, but it proved nonfunctional. The overhead lights were out as well, the only light coming from the two huge windows on the remaining side walls. The panes covered almost the entire wall, stretching to within a few inches of the edges of the room.

Maybe it was somewhat of a microcosm of his entire life that the last thing he noticed was the thing that mattered most. They had no discernable way out. He looked to Remy to find her staring out the window. Down below them was what looked to be some kind of large kitchen area that stretched underneath this elevated office. It, like most of this ship, had probably been abandoned in light of the long docking and the Alliance boarding.

She bit her lip and he could almost see the gears turning in her head. The improvising had seemed to have finally caught up to them and they had reached a dead end. Shepard may not be a clandestine operation genius, but he knew one thing: they couldn't go back.

"Shit," she muttered and got up and began pacing in front of the closest window.

She didn't curse lightly. He knew that because he'd never seen her do it before. He wanted to be of some help but he needed an idea first. She needed some time to think and, as a matter of fact, so did he.

Though he might not have sounded as confident as he felt at the time, he had been rather sure that the Alliance would not be out to kill him. The soldier's reactions in the hallway had left him undoubtedly shaken. It was generally not standard operating procedure to execute a suspect. Shepard specifically hadn't engaged them for that reason. Well that and he didn't want to hurt any soldiers that were only doing their job. Plus at the end of the day he knew he was still owed a military tribunal.

It was possible the order to bring him in dead came from a higher level. But that would have to be someone above Anderson, and that didn't leave many possibilities. Shepard shuddered. That really scared him. If that were true, then whatever was going on with Nihlus went _way_ deeper than he'd originally thought. He shook his head. None of this made any sense.

"None of this makes any sense." Saying it out loud felt better.

"That you were wrong?" she said. "Somehow I can wrap my head around it."

"I was not wrong," he said, glancing at her. "Everything I said was true."

The pounding of feet above him interrupted his attempt at parsing this all out. Every soldier on the ship had to have been put on full alert after their little shootout near the dining room. She was right earlier. They were running out of time, and fast.

"Something's not right," he said. "We need to get out of here and figure this out."

The moment he finished talking a thundering boom echoed from down the hallway. It sounded like they had blown the door to the stairwell off the hinges. Which was ridiculous really, they hadn't even locked it behind them. Lots of shouting voices followed but Shepard couldn't make anything out through the thickness of the door.

"Shit," she said again. She scrambled past him and shut the door, engaging the locks on the top and bottom. Then she twisted the latches to lock several of the security bars in place.

He hadn't realized this place was so heavy duty. This room was more like a safe house than an office.

She stepped back, her movements frantic. "This door is reinforced," she said. "It'll buy us some time but not a lot."

"Yeah, well unless you've got a grenade launcher hidden under that jacket, I would say things look pretty grim," he said.

Her response was to put her hands on her hips and look at him. His jaw hung open a little bit. He could never tell when she was joking.

Remy motioned for him to step back. She brought her hands up and her entire body started humming. Blue flares snaked outward from her torso, ending in sickening snaps. She drew back her frame and pushed. The blue strings of light exploded forward, smashing into two of the huge shelves near the door and toppling them over sideways, the rubble forming a makeshift barricade.

The wave of heat that had erupted outward made him squint and draw up a hand to protect his eyes. Shepard had seen biotics up close before, but nothing as powerful as this.

When it was over she marched back to the metal desk and turned it over on its side. It was a pathetic cover against grenades and piercing rounds, but he supposed it was better than nothing.

The noise from her biotic whiplash must have spurred the Alliance into quicker action. The voices were closer now and a few seconds later there was pounding on the door. Shepard looked to Remy but she looked like she wasn't even aware of his existence. She had one hand behind her back and another reaching up to grip her holster. Her jaw was set and her knees were bent. She looked like a predator waiting to strike.

This wasn't going to end well. She would die before she let the Alliance take them willingly. And while dying a heroic death in an old west shootout surely made for a legendary story, he had plans for his life that extended outside of this grimy office.

A roar flared up from just outside the door. A few seconds later the telltale sparks of a torch started flying into the room. This area must have been too reinforced to risk blowing it up so they had to break in the old-fashioned way.

If he was going to act, he had to act now.

"Do you trust me?"

She straightened up and looked at him like he'd grown another head. "What?"

"Do you trust me?" he repeated.

She opened her mouth but faltered, no words coming out. It was too late; they were out of time anyway. The top half of the door had already broken off the frame, and the rest would soon follow. Shepard took a deep breath and put both hands on the broken-down terminal. After a small struggle, he wrenched the metal monitor frame off the desk. Shepard stepped back and put all his strength behind his throw as he hurled the terminal through the glass window behind her. Then he charged.

Her face had slipped somewhere between shock and consternation, but soon he couldn't see her anymore. He impacted a few inches under her shoulders, lifting her up and pinning her close. She was shorter than him, but not by much, so it wasn't without considerable effort. One thing that always seemed to get downplayed in the vids he loved was just how hard it was to carry a fully-grown human being. In that moment he heard the bottom half of the door snap. One more kick and it would cave in, leaving them exposed.

Shepard took the last few steps in the biggest strides he could manage, held his breath and jumped. There was a wooden cooking table in the middle of the room he'd picked out as a landing spot upon first scanning the room below, but this wasn't exactly the sort of thing they trained you to do. He at least had the wherewithal to spin them so that he was the one that would hit the ground first. He outweighed her by at least 75 pounds and if she landed under him that could collapse a lung, or worse.

After that everything was out of his control and all that was left was the sensation of falling.

 

* * *

 

 

A few moments after what should've been their landing Shepard realized why that table was placed where it was. They crashed through it and landed on something hard, but not quite as hard as he expected the floor to be. It was a loosely secured metal grate and it caved almost instantly. Before Shepard could even process what happened he and Remy were falling down an impossibly large ventilation shaft. Less than a second later his back made contact with the other end of the passageway, a grate very similar to the first one.

Rather than buckling inward under their combined weight like the first piece of metal, this one gave way entirely. Just as they began to tumble downward again Shepard's head whipped backward and impacted it. His whole world went blurry.

A few agonizing seconds later they hit the ground. He was vaguely aware that they had landed on yet another foreign object but beyond that, thinking was impossible. The room was dancing in front of him so he shut his eyes. He heard a soft groan come from his chest as she wriggled slightly.

Now that he didn't feel like he was going to puke anymore, Shepard let his head fall to the side and opened his eyes. He brought his hand up to his face to make sure he wasn't seeing double but the only thing he noticed was the squashed tomato in his palm.

Shepard looked down around them. The bulk they had finally landed on was a crate. It now lay in pieces and what surrounded them now were all matters of fruits and vegetables, some he recognized and some he didn't.

"What the . . ." he mumbled. He closed his eyes again then shook his head — to clear the cobwebs, and to make sure that he wasn't in a cartoon. Nope, they were still there.

He heard Remy taking several gasping breaths. As far as he was concerned if getting the wind knocked out of her was her biggest problem, she had gotten off easy. After wiping off his hand, he placed his arms around her and rubbed her back. If she asked him later, he would swear that holding her so close was an instinctual reaction and had nothing to do with how nice it felt.

Her breathing slowed and for a moment they just lay there. On the bright side, the Alliance didn't know where they were because even _he_ didn't know where they were. Shepard looked down at the pile of raven hair on his chest. He sighed. Things could be so different with her sometimes.

She groaned and finally composed herself enough to roll off of him and sit up on her knees. She looked up, then around the room, and finally back to him. The absurdity of it all didn't betray a hint of her demeanor.

"I saw that . . . going differently in my mind," he said.

"Next time you ask me if I trust you," she said, getting to her feet, "the answer is going to be no."

Getting himself to his feet proved to be a much more arduous task. It felt like he had some bruising in his ribs and he was sure there was a nice lump on the back of his head from where he'd hit the grate.

After he'd finally stood up, he looked around and took in the room with her. It was laid out like a warehouse, albeit on a much smaller scale. Two doors lay roughly fifty feet apart at either end of the room and crates upon crates were piled up everywhere. The low roof wasn't that much out of his arm's reach and the huge shaft that he'd just fallen through extended an extra few feet into the room. It must have been some kind of elevator system to transport large quantities of food up to the kitchen.

"Well, we can't go back," she said. "Those cars though."

"What? Cars?"

"Those over there." She pointed to the heavy door to their left.

He took a step toward it and squinted. Through a small window in its center he saw what looked like a row of skycars. How she saw and processed all of that in a half-second glance he had no idea.

She pushed him a step behind her and flared her biotics. The bulky door crumpled and fell off the frame with a resounding clang. "We need a bypass of some kind," she said, "something to secure us between here and the port."

Shepard stepped past the security keypad on the wall. "Well if they didn't know where we ended up, I'm sure they do now. I wonder what's so important about this room."

She was already past him before he finished talking. "We can drive down. Ditch the car in the square. We can use it as a distraction."

There had to be at least ten skycars in here, and all of them looked incredibly expensive. Some were newer models he hadn't even heard of, let alone seen, while others were classically preserved. This room alone was worth more credits than he'd ever see in his life.

All in all it looked like some kind of shipboard garage. There were a few tools and work areas in the corners and he could hear the commotion of the port-side activity through the far wall. They must be near the hull.

"I thought the plan was to not get shot," he said.

"Shepard, it's simple. It's the soldiers or these cars."

"You're not talking about getting out in mid-air?

She gave a small shrug, scanning the room one last time. "It's an idea. I didn't say it was a good one."

Shepard closed his eyes and swallowed. "You wanna jump out of the car."

Remy was over near one of the workbenches in the back. She clanged some tools around as she checked every shelf and lockbox. "What, is that too risky for the guy who gets shot at every day?"

Shepard stopped himself from pointing out that he didn't do that anymore. Though it certainly seemed to be his life lately. "Heights make me nervous," he said. "Plus, I don't have a good history with falling vehicles."

She paused momentarily and shook her head. "Why do I actually want to hear that story?"

"I got stuck in a tree as a kid." He watched her unearth a blowtorch and test its flame a few times before walking over to the far wall. "See? It's not that hard to tell people things," he said.

She had her ear to the smooth metal surface and tapped a few times before answering him. "Somehow I doubt that. And that's not the part I was interested in hearing explained."

The sparks bounced harmlessly off the thin sheen of her shield before vanishing as they touched the floor. Even though she was at least halfway across the room, Shepard could still feel the heat. She spent at least five minutes cutting a wide sweeping oval at least 30 feet long, often reaching up as high as she could on the wall.

When she was done, she took a step back to examine her work and Shepard didn't quite understand. She had completed the circuit but that torch wasn't meant for cutting through several inches of whatever reinforced metal made up this ship's exterior.

"You might want to shield your eyes," she said.

Shepard reluctantly obliged and the next thing he heard was an explosion.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of her biotics ripping off the entire portion of the wall reminded him of a dreadnaught's engines firing up. The loud roar left his ears ringing and made him take a step back. Shepard peeked through his hands and saw the huge piece of metal torn off its frame and drop heavily into the wide gap between the ship and the space port.

The group of Alliance soldiers situated near the gangway, about a hundred feet northwest of them, was less than half of what he saw when he first woke up on this ship. They were busy covering what was, in their mind, the only way off the ship. Shepard bemoaned the fact that they were smart enough to leave a squad of a dozen or so on the ground. Either they gave him _a lot_ of credit or . . . actually, he couldn't come up with another answer.

Remy saw them too, and whether she expected them or not, her movements sped up. "Get in," she said, gesturing to the brand new X3M next to him.

Shepard looked at her then back to the locked car. "It's . . I don't-"

She stuck her hand out and, after a moment of blue glow, both of the passenger windows shattered. "There. _Now_ get in," she repeated.

Shepard watched her warily but acquiesced. She walked to the driver's side of the next car over, a clunkier looking red shuttle and turned away before smashing the glass with her elbow. He couldn't really see what she did next, but it looked like she was typing something into the on-board computer. The last thing she did before she got out was slap the roof of the skycar, leaving behind a hand-sized black oval crisscrossed with industrial tape stuck to the underside of the roof.

She strode, a little quicker than normal, over to the driver's seat of his car and started it up without a word.

His face fell as he realized he was actually going to have to ask. "Well?" he said. "What was that?"

She looked at him and flared the drive. "Insurance," she said.

"Can you talk to me like a normal person for at least two minutes?" he said. "What's the plan?"

She gestured out to the docking bay not 40 feet from their current position. "The car's on autopilot. It makes the jump across the gap and heads for the bridge that separates the two sections of the port. Explosions, lots of fireworks and we land on the other side."

"Why would we land? They'd just chase us in their own vehicles. At least now we'd have a head start."

She smirked. "Do you see any?"

He didn't. They must already have cruisers in the air in case they tried the very escape he was proposing. "That's . . . perceptive of them."

She rolled her eyes. "Our ship isn't that far. It's easier to lose them on foot."

He looked at the groups of soldiers, which had no doubt noticed the huge hole in the ship and were either radioing the rest of their squad or moving as close to the edge of the dock as they could. The most direct route would require passing right by them.

"You know, this is all much less reassuring than you make it sound," he said.

She ignored him. "You still have the gun you were carrying around earlier?"

His eyebrows shot up. "What? I mean, yes." She had been at least 20 feet away when he'd swiped that. "How did you . . .?"

She looked away and bit her lip. "I, um, felt it earlier."

Shepard was glad she wasn't looking at him so he didn't have to be embarrassed by the blush that had swept over his face.

"If things go wrong, we might have to split up," she said. "Just follow my instructions word for word and you'll live."

His voice became very droll. "But for now the exploding car has us covered?"

"For now just follow my lead." She glanced at him. "At least I'm not making you leap out of the car, right?"

His response was drowned out by the roaring of the car next to them firing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never expected getting them off the ship to take up an entire chapter but here we are. Part of me wishes I could've packed more in here, but this was a natural break point, separating the on-ship action from its off-ship counterpart. One thing that I think never gets emphasized enough, in the games and here, is that Miranda is _good_ at reading people. It might not offer her much help when it comes to real relationships (because people are not problems to be solved), but Miranda is one of the smartest humans in the galaxy and I want to always try and show that.
> 
> Thanks to those of you that have stuck with me so far and have offered support. Until next time.


	6. It Is You and I Who Are Perfect, Not the Next World

**2351 HRS, May 11, 2183**

**Watson, Skepsis System, Sigurd's Cradle**

Shepard took a deep breath and watched the shuttle next to them lift up and exit the ship. Remy tapped her fingers on the seat, waiting a few seconds before she raised their car and followed. When they got out into the open, Shepard could see the spaceport was built into a steep, craggy cliff overlooking an almost-black ocean. That explained all the deep drop-offs and why the Alliance seemed to have trouble getting direct access to transport more soldiers.

There was another sizable bluff, almost a mountain, that separated the port from the rest of the city. The only access Shepard could see was a bunch of run-down buildings built into the side of the hill. He was sure there were other tunnel access points, but that wasn't where Remy would want to head. The car was about halfway to its destination — the walkway bridge complete with a guard station that split the port in half and, he guessed, separated the poor side of the city from everybody else.

The Alliance soldiers were much closer now, and from what he could see, they looked just as confused as he was when she explained what the hell the two of them were going to do. The path they had to take to get to the bridge — and safety — meant flying parallel to the cruise ship, right past the soldiers along the side of the port.

The marines took cover behind some crates, and, once the two ships got close enough, opened fire on the shuttle in front of them.

Shepard braced himself. "Why are they shooting at us?" he asked over the gunfire.

"I don't know," she said, louder than normal. "Probably the same reasons as before."

Shepard grimaced. Deep down he'd still been convinced that the Alliance wasn't trying to kill him, and that was a detail he'd kept to himself. "They're only focused on the shuttle," he said. "The combat sensors would tell them that was a decoy."

The moment he finished talking the bullets stopped. He felt a little uneasy. They hadn't done much damage to the shuttle, and it struck him why she chose such a bulky model. She was always thinking three or four steps ahead. And for a moment, he understood what it was like to live in her world because he realized what was coming next.

"Remy!" he said. "You need to bank-"

The soldiers' refocused fire blew out the windshield on the central door and rained glass all over the seats. The skycar's computer voice started droning alerts but he wasn't paying attention. The car lurched and Shepard tried to brush the shards out of his hair.

"Looks like you were right about the sensors," she said. "They know where we are now."

He watched the shuttle bank to the left and approach the bridge. "They probably just realized they weren't making any progress," he said.

"Of course there's always the simple explanation: they're just trying to kill you."

Shepard groaned. "Only in your world would that be simple."

The shuttle had begun to nosedive. Just a few more seconds and it would impact. The Alliance's gunfire continued, though Remy had pulled them higher up in the air and at least made their car a smaller target.

Their skycar had just crossed over to the unoccupied side of the platform when it jerked again. Shepard assumed from the way the back end slid that one of the soldiers had clipped something important in their drive compartment. The shuttle impacted a moment later and the explosion was enormous. Shepard could feel the rush of heat through the central window. The blast shot the car forward and spun them around.

Remy was smashing different controls to try and get the car to respond. He hoped she was able to do something because they were slowly losing altitude and heading right for the group of Alliance soldiers that they'd just managed to avoid. In one motion she slid across to sit on his lap, and the holographic interface, which had now turned red, moved with her.

"Shepard, we have to jump."

He shook his head violently. "No! No, you said-"

"I don't have control!" She wrapped his arms around her waist. "Don't let go. We have to do it before we cross the gap."

Shepard looked up. The explosion had been bigger than he could've imagined. The bridge was totally gone and several of the crate piles had caught on fire. The soldiers might have been too far away to sustain any real injury, but he didn't see any of them. He gulped and held on to her for dear life.

"Three," she said and kicked out the side door. "Two."

And then she jumped.

She'd used a biotic Push to launch herself out of the car. He'd been holding her as tight as he could, so he was clumsily dragged out too, feeling like deadweight. The fall was over in a blur. Shepard didn't know how high up they were, but he could see that if they'd jumped a second later, they would've fallen down the gap to their deaths. Even now he wasn't sure survival was guaranteed.

The ground approached fast and she began to glow blue again. When they were a few feet away their speed began to slow and then reversed completely. It felt to Shepard like he'd landed on an invisible trampoline and the shock of it all was enough to break his death grip. They separated and after the bounce, fell the remaining few feet together, landing in two separate heaps.

Shepard moaned. This was the second time he'd fallen flat on his back in the past hour. He gave himself a once-over to make sure he could still move.

"That was . . . impressive," he said, rolling over and sitting up.

She was already on her feet and reaching under her jacket. Shepard saw a few Alliance soldiers struggling to collect themselves, much in the same way he was. Their numbers were smaller though — the shuttle must have put a few of them out of commission. Their car had crashed and skidded to a stop in more or less the middle of the other half of the platform. The front door had flown off but it looked more or less intact. This wasn't an action vid, he reminded himself: things didn't explode on impact.

She drew and aimed the comically large pistol that he'd seen make the trip from the apartment to their luggage to her person. It was only when she fired that he realized he was wrong in thinking it was a flare gun. It was a grenade launcher. A hollow thunk sent the grenade in a wide arc toward their downed skycar and she grabbed his wrist and yanked him behind some nearby crates.

He wasn't sure how it was possible but this blast felt even bigger than the shuttle's explosion. The swell of the flame blew a couple crates off the stack they were taking cover behind. One of the car doors flew past them, spinning impossibly fast.

Shepard peeked out from behind their cover. "You're insane!" he said. "You could've killed them. Or us!"

She blew the hair out of her face. "I didn't," she said. "Let's go."

She grabbed his hand and took off in the direction of the poor section of the city, at the edge of the port, and away from the soldiers. Shepard spared a look back at the wreckage. He didn't see any corpses, but then again it was hard to see anything through the haze of flame and smoke. He looked up in the sky to see if any cruisers were on to them, but again found nothing.

He wrestled his hand free. It was easier to run this way. "Where are we headed?" he said through heaving breaths.

She was a few paces in front of him and he began to regret not keeping his own conditioning up these past few years. "The slums are a decent place to lose them, but we can't stay there," she said. "Our shuttle is just inside city limits. If we can make it there, we're fine."

He didn't like her using the word "if" but left it alone. They passed through an unmanned gate and a few cross streets later were in the heart of the massive neighborhood. Shepard knew places like this. It was where he'd spent most of his childhood. The way the area was built into the hill meant these small stilt houses that were probably better defined as shacks were stacked almost on top of each other. Most of the loose, tarnished aluminum roofs looked like they were ready to fall off of the equally shaky cracked cement foundations. The closeness of the houses meant many passageways, shortcuts, concrete staircases and fences, which was good news for the two of them.

Remy led him through these seemingly countless alleys, flanked by chipped pink and teal paint. The clothes she wore were surely out of place but they were both covered in so much soot, sweat and dirt it was probably hardly noticeable. They passed one house without a back door, and Shepard saw a older human woman and a young girl inside eating from bowls, staring at him as he passed by. He almost instinctively slowed down a little bit. It was tough to make the "running for your life" speed blend in.

After hours of criss-crossing through streets, back-alleys and warehouses, Shepard was exhausted. It hadn't been so bad in the dark. The night air was freezing and it provided a nice counterbalance to the sweat he was working up. But they had been traveling all morning, and he'd seen the sun come up hours ago, and felt how much worse it had gotten after that. They turned a corner and once Shepard saw yet another staircase, he knew it was time to say something. He reached out to grab Remy's shoulder and missed pathetically. His hand fell to her back and he had to catch himself before it went way lower than he intended. If she noticed, she didn't show it, instead turning to him with a expectant look.

"We need water," he said, barely able to get the words out. "I can barely swallow. And it doesn't do either of us any good if someone passes out from heat exhaustion."

She didn't fight him, thank God, and motioned for him to follow her down an adjacent pathway instead of scaling the stairs. Some, but not all, of the houses had a water spigot hidden somewhere around the back. Of the houses that did have them, most were non-functional, and — as Remy always made a show of checking the houses for people — almost none were unoccupied.

Shepard thought he was going to die by the time one of the faucet heads she twisted and kicked finally started dribbling out water. He scrambled under it and twisted his head to get under the weak stream. It tasted like copper and dirt, but he was hardly in a position to be picky. After some period of time that wasn't even close to enough, he rolled over and leaned up against the wall, allowing her an opportunity to drink.

"We could be lost here for hours," he said. It felt like they'd _already_ been lost for hours. They had been moving forward, he thought, but it was a lot of zigzagging up and down the incline. His feet were killing him.

"I know," she said between swallows. She didn't even sound out of breath. She took off her jacket and wet it under the stream. After wiping herself down, she left it on the ground and helped him up.

After another minute or two they were up and moving again. They doubled back and climbed the staircase, Shepard feeling more and more like Icarus the higher up they got on this mountainside. They slipped in-between two houses and suddenly through the clutter of trees and AC units and metal gates, he could see a sliver of the city in the distance. Remy walked to a nearby shack, stepped on a crate and hoisted herself up on to the roof. He heard her take a deep breath.

Shepard followed a couple of seconds later and put his hand on her shoulder to steady himself. The entire breadth of the city was spread out before them — the complexity of the windy roads and multi-layered buildings in front of them, the destroyed port behind them and the cleaner metropolis a few miles away. He didn't realize they were that high up, and it didn't help that he was afraid of heights.

"A vantage point." He nodded, still taking heavy breaths. "You wanted to see where we were."

She was biting her lip. "We got a head start, but it doesn't mean much. By now they will have sent out patrols. We'll have to stay off the main roads, and even then we'll be lucky to get to the city undetected."

He put his hands on his hips. "They'll probably be traveling in smaller groups. Less people but more ground covered."

She wrinkled her nose and looked at him. "Are you agreeing with me or making a point?"

He waved her off. It wasn't worth any more effort. "We should go."

It felt strange for him to be the one spurring them forward, but they were so close now. Not to mention the height was getting to him, though he'd never tell her that.

He climbed down very carefully and they were off again. Being more cautious about how they proceeded led to more dead ends. Shepard particularly regretted having to break down a door of an abandoned house and jump several gates only to have to turn around when they came face to face with the edge of the slums and the planet's jungle. He tried to track the city's border by the high-rise buildings that pierced the sky. It wasn't a perfect method, but it was reassuring.

Remy came to a stop on an eroding concrete staircase and pressed herself up against a two-story house. He followed suit only because it seemed appropriate. Her face was a mask of concentration and Shepard stopped panting so he could hear better. There were voices in the distance.

"Two, maybe three," she said under her breath.

They were getting closer and he could hear lots of yelling. These people that lived here were much too poor to afford universal translators, so the soldiers had resulted to harsh voices and waved weapons to get their way.

A kid on a bike passed down the backstreet to Shepard's left. The movement drew his line of sight and was probably the only reason he saw the Alliance soldier drop down onto the roof of the square house opposite them.

"Remy!" he began to yell as the soldier reached up to his helmet to click on his radio.

She must have seen it too, because at the same moment he found his voice, she was unleashing a biotic Throw that knocked the marine off his feet.

"Go! Now!" she said and took off at a full-sprint down the opposite alleyway to their right.

Shepard followed, realizing that this long straightaway would either make for an easy getaway or a deathtrap. All the noise they had made gave away their position and he could feel the marines collapsing on their position. He watched the street flicker through the spaces in the houses as he passed by each one. As he peered down one of the gaps, he came face to face with another Alliance soldier. But Shepard covered the distance in three strides and was out of sight before the marine could raise his weapon.

He heard more voices coming from the end of the alley. It sounded like there were more waiting to cut him off. He expended a little extra energy to catch back up to Remy. She reached to her waist.

"Cover your ears and close your eyes!" she said and tossed something toward the end of the path where the alley meet the cross street. When he did, she grabbed his free arm and yanked him down the final cross section, away from the gang of voices. A second later Shepard heard the bang of a stun grenade through his cupped ears.

They exploded out into the street and Shepard spent a few seconds looking in both directions but couldn't spot any enemies. Remy assessed everything in a half-second like she always did, lept across the street and began darting between houses again. She found one particularly long path that went on for hundreds of feet and multiple staircases with no opportunity to turn off. Shepard looked up. At least they were heading in the right direction.

Shepard could again see the street they were running parallel to through the windows of some of the houses he passed. He could actually hear the sound of traffic now. Their path down the alley ended in a ten foot fence about fifteen yards ahead, but there was an opening a couple of feet before it that he was sure led to freedom.

They rounded the final corner and Shepard almost tripped over himself coming to a screeching halt.

It wasn't just his feet that almost tripped him; she stopped so suddenly he nearly bowled over her. He wrapped his arms around her in a bearhug to steady himself, letting out a loud woosh of air as they stumbled forward. By the time he looked up, the two Alliance marines had already turned around and noticed them.

He and Remy were sent scrambling back around the corner.

"We know you're armed!" he heard one of the soldiers yell out. They were still a good distance away, having been posted way down near the street and it sounded like they were approaching slowly.

"Toss out your weapons and get on the ground!" the other one said.

While she was flattened against the stone wall of the house, Shepard was on the other side of the alley, in the alcove near the high fence. Shepard idly wondered if separating was a stupid thing to do. If so, it hadn't been his intention.

"Shepard," she hissed. When he looked at her, hopefully not as wide-eyed with fear as he felt, she pointed past the fence toward the city. "Climb the fence. Head for the city."

His eyes boggled. "What? I'm-"

She spoke quicker now. "Once you're there, go to the corner of Montross and 13th. Do not wait more than ten minutes. If I don't show up, our shuttle is the only vehicle on the top floor of the parking garage. Our things will be there and the security interface will recognize you."

He couldn't believe she was about to ask him to leave her. That's specifically what he told her that he _wouldn't_ do under any circumstance.

"Take the shuttle and _go_ ," she said. "The on-board computer has one contact programmed into it. Talk to him and do everything he says."

Now he really wished he was right next to her instead of across an eight-foot gap. At least then he could be stubborn enough to refuse and still have a way out. Or he could grab Remy by her shoulders and try to shake some sense into her. Both options seemed appealing.

"What about you?" he said. "If you think-"

"They'll draw way too much attention. Go!" she spat. "Now." She looked like she was going to be the one to shoot him if he didn't start moving.

Shepard gave her one last long look before putting his fingers in the links of the fence and beginning to climb. After taking care to limit the amount of noise he made, he straddled the top, tried not to think about how far the drop was and reached for the fire escape attached to the side of the building. It took a few heart-stopping near-misses before his fingers closed around one of the balcony rods. From there, he shakily stood up on the edge of the fence and, after taking a moment to steady himself, made the jump to the balcony in one ungraceful vault.

Shepard clambered up the ladder until he was at eye-level with the roof and hoisted himself up. He used the vantage point to scan the surrounding area. If he trekked over the four or five roofs all stacked next to his, there was an elevated concrete walkway onto which he should be able to drop down. Now he could see the line of trees that separated this place from the rest of the city.

He took a step in that direction and froze. This woman had saved his life, for reasons he _still_ didn't understand and had asked for nothing in return. Remy was slick, in control, alluring, and impossible, but she wasn't a superhero. And he was about to leave her to die.

Shepard reached for his pistol and felt a cold chill run through him when he came up empty. It was impossible to tell when exactly he'd lost it. The impetuous jump from the skycar was his best guess, but the endless running, sneaking and climbing they'd been doing all day seemed just as likely. Either way he was a lot more useless to her now 25 feet above her with no weapon.

He lied down flat on his stomach — he was still afraid after all — and crawled to the edge of the roof to examine the scene.

The soldiers were closer now, maybe about fifteen feet from the end of the alleyway. They had their weapons raised, still yelling out jargon. He couldn't see Remy anymore, not from this angle, but he saw her shadow.

A blue figure stepped into view and in one motion she shoved an enormous wave of biotic force down the alley. The soldiers fired off a couple of rounds on instinct but missed wildly. The attack knocked both of them off their feet, sending them sliding backwards several yards. One of them had his helmet fly off, and his assault rifle arced out of his hands and landed in a nearby dumpster. The other tumbled and rolled, the force of the attack sending his gun into the wall with such force that it snapped in two.

In a flash she was upon them. Remy delivered several swift kicks to the stomach of the soldier that had lost his helmet. Initially he'd looked to have been in better shape than his partner. The other one was getting to his feet and Shepard almost called out a warning. After delivering one last kick that popped the soldier up from his elbows and landed him flat on his back, she turned just in time to dodge the other's charge.

The man crashed shoulder-first into the concrete wall but his armor remained unblemished. Shepard began to worry. The man turned and threw a clumsy punch that Remy dodged easily.

The whole thing wasn't a violent exchange. It was more martial art than a bar fight. A dance. She couldn't just wind up and throw a fist or a kick with all her might. That was a sure way to break some bones in her hand and let the guy who already had a hundred pounds on her get a tactical advantage as well. She had to bring him in a little, gently, then let him back out a little bit.

Another punch whooshed by her head. She was too close to really put any force behind the elbow she slammed into his ear, but it was enough to stun him. She hit him with another one and the soldier put both hands on her rib cage and pushed her away.

Then she had to bring him back the other way. She had to coax him into making a mistake. A lot of it was feel. And Shepard had never seen anything like it.

The man charged again and she hesitated, accelerated, sprinted, and finally connected. She bent her back to avoid the clothesline and drove a knee into his stomach. He let out a loud rush of air that Shepard could hear from his position on the roof. The marine slammed his fist on the wall and reached down to scoop up a bowling-ball-sized piece of concrete debris. He hurled it in her direction but she flicked, floated, and spun, grabbing the broken assault rifle along the way and ending with a crunch as it crumpled upon making impact with his helmet.

It's stunning, but the beauty is secondary to the action. She spun because spinning is the safest, quickest way from point A to point B. She grabbed the weapon because it was there. She went for his head because the Alliance for years had refused to upgrade the woefully inadequate Hydra helmets. After the blow, the soldier slumped against the wall and slowly sunk to the ground, his helmet broken in-half.

The whole thing was over in a matter of seconds. Only then did she turn to the other marine, who was just now making it to his knees, and administer a rigid punt to the side of his head. He collapsed in a heap, at the very least suffering from a serious concussion.

Shepard realized his mouth had been hanging open and, with some effort, shut it. She had just taken down two highly-qualified, highly-armed soldiers that had ICT training or better and had done so without receiving so much as a scratch. He'd been at the top of his N7 program and he'd never seen _anything_ like that. It was unnerving that he'd been so close with her and had absolutely no idea she was such a weapon. It made him wonder what else she was capable of.

After making sure they were both unresponsive, Remy walked over to the dumpster and reached in to retrieve one of the assault rifles. She spent a couple of seconds checking over it before tossing it back in disgust. Her biotics must have fried it or something, he guessed. He scanned the alley to try and find the remains of the other rifle but before he located it, she was a blur. Remy dashed across the street and took a hard left, disappearing behind a house and into one of the innumerable corridors that made up this miserable labyrinth.

Shepard slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off. He was behind on time. If she knew he'd stayed for all of that she probably would've had his head (though hopefully not as violently as she'd just demonstrated). But he felt calmer knowing that, for now at least, she was alright. He turned and scampered across the tops of the buildings, feeling like each one of these flimsy roofs could collapse every time he had to make the short jump from house to house. Eventually, he reached the walkway and scooted off the roof to drop carefully to the raised concrete path.

Shepard got up and speed-walked down the narrow pathway without pausing or looking behind him. The planet's sun was almost entirely gone now and the nighttime winds felt like an ice bath after the muggy humidity of the late afternoon. The walkway was grim and narrow, as if constructed for people that weren't tall enough to look down over the sides.

After a couple of minutes, Shepard slowed to a halt. He realized that this part of the city was much quieter than what he was used to. There weren't any old TVs blaring out open windows. He didn't see any kids riding their broken-pedal bikes and there wasn't a smell of burnt food or any shirts hanging on the clotheslines between houses.

Someone below him was making noise though. The heavy, plodding footsteps were situated just so that he couldn't see anything no matter which side of the walkway he looked over. He heard the squeak of one of the side doors to a house being opened. Shepard was too afraid to move. Even the native animal life living on the mountain a few hundred feet to his left had stopped hooting and squawking.

A couple of seconds later the door slammed shut and Shepard jumped. He tried to make as little noise as possible but he couldn't help it. He coughed. The person was apparently still there because he heard some more shuffling. The only thing big enough to make that much noise just walking around was an Alliance marine in a full suit of armor.

He hazarded another glance over the concrete edge and came face to face with a visored helmet. Shepard yelped and yanked his head back, crouching down to his knees. It wasn't even half-a-second but he'd been spotted. His face was covered in so much dirt, sweat and grime from their day-long trek he wondered if he was even recognizable. There wasn't any immediate shooting, so that gave him hope. However, he still at least vaguely matched his own description, and that was surely enough to make him worthy of suspicion.

"Hey, you!" the soldier called out.

Shepard bit his tongue and cursed himself. He was unarmed, exhausted and probably lost. A chase was not something he was confident he could come out of in one piece.

"Hey asshole, get down here or I'll have you arrested! The Systems Alliance isn't something to be fucked with!"

Shepard again did nothing, content to wait it out even if he had no idea what his escape plan was.

The man below him let loose a throaty grunt. The next thing Shepard heard was the crunch of a door being kicked down. The armored boots made soft thumps each time the marine took a step, but they were getting fainter and fainter.

Shepard knew he had to act. If the guy was going to come up two stories to get him (a terrible plan, really), he would have a head start. Although he didn't have a plan beyond the first step, he took off running.

He was running low on energy after trudging around all day; the foot chase through the streets with Remy and subsequent climbing only made it worse. His throat burned and his legs were wobbling. Shepard could see up ahead that the pathway folded into the shape of a bracket, allowing it to wrap around a larger warehouse. If he could just make it past that, then the marine's line of sight would be broken and he'd be free.

Just as he made it to the first 90 degree turn, he heard shouting. It was too far behind him to make out but it still chilled him. Remy's position all along — one that he argued against from the moment they landed — had been that the Alliance was out for blood. If that was true, then it didn't matter whether he ended up being a civilian or not, the marine would still take the shot on the off-chance it was him. Since Shepard was only moments from escaping, that seemed like a certainty.

Continuing down the walkway wasn't an option. Yes, he was close, but there was still about 20 feet of concrete to cover, and he'd be running in the same direction as before, which would afford no cover. Shepard said a quick prayer to no one in particular and steeled himself. If he made it out of this alive, Remy would never hear that he bet his life on her being right about something. He used the three feet of space in front of him to get a running start, placed one hand on the rail and vaulted over.

It was only once he was airborne that he realized he had no idea what he was below him. The drop looked close to 20 feet — that he did know — but he couldn't keep making this up as he went. Nobody shot at him, which was a plus, but as he fell he knew the landing was going to hurt.

This looked like somebody's backyard, only instead of grass there was hard cement. His momentum kept carrying, though, and soon he was flying farther than he ever thought he would. Part of him was silently impressed with the amount of strength he was able to exert in times of desperation. The other part of him let out a loud groan, all the air rushing out of his lungs as he crash-landed into a trash can, his ribs making first contact with the hard metal.

The container caved a few inches and Shepard was able to bring up his hand to give his head a place to land when it whipped forward. It still hurt like hell and probably bruised a few bones, but it was better than giving himself a concussion on the much harder metal surface.

He flopped backward onto the ground, trying to clear the stars from his vision. His head lolled to the side and Shepard spotted an open doorway of yet another deserted building. This backyard area shielded him a little bit, but it was still completely out in the open. He dragged himself just inside the house, not trusting his legs to work anymore, and propped himself up against the wall.

Shepard closed his eyes, took several heaving breaths and tried to listen. His ears were ringing and his heart was thumping, but he didn't hear any pounding, or any yelling voices. He sat there long enough for his breathing to calm down and eventually decided he was in the clear.

He pulled up his shirt to get a look at his kidney area. There wasn't any blood, aside from the random scrapes he'd picked up throughout the day, but there was a purple, grapefruit-sized bruise that extended from below his waistline up toward his navel. Shepard ran his hand down his side, feeling his ribs and trying to take as much care as he could. It didn't seem like anything was broken, but it was hard to tell how much the shock and adrenaline was affecting him.

Shepard spit out some blood and reached up, using a table covered in some kind of dried animal feces to pull himself back up. He held on, taking a few experimental steps before feeling good enough to try walking again. At the doorway, he braced himself and paused, checking one last time for any trace of his pursuer.

Across the backyard and behind the swing set, there was a rickety ladder that extended up out of sight. Shepard walked under the pathway, past the untended garden and saw the ladder ended in a gap between the concrete side walls of the pathway. He looked back in the direction he'd come from and saw only dark sky. He glanced back up. In some ways it might make him a sitting duck, but he was much less likely to run into trouble if he followed that for as long as he could.

After making sure the ladder could hold his weight, he climbed up and once again began walking, though much more slowly than before. After a couple more minutes, the path ended in a ramp, dumping him onto the side of a dirt street, next to a darkened building with the door broken down and a boarded-up window.

He was on the outskirts of the slums now. There were no soldiers out walking around or people of any kind to be seen. And frankly, he was more than ready to be done with the frustrating vagaries of this place. Remy's melee in the alley had to have been a lightning rod once the soldiers saw their comrades' radios go dark. He silently thanked her for the relief he was able to feel as he calmly covered the last hundred feet to the tree line, simultaneously willing to take it all back if it meant she had come into any kind of harm.

Shepard crossed the final deserted street, ducked behind a few houses and was into the trees. It was possible, he thought, that she never had any intention of meeting him downtown — the promise only being made to serve as the carrot on the stick to get him moving in the first place. While it was unlikely this was her plan all along, maybe she just saw an out and took it.

If not, if she did show up, they would have to continue to live this hollow relationship. She'd arrive after gunning down an entire squadron or setting fire to an entire neighborhood or who knows what, and find him sitting on the hood of the shuttle or attempting to dress his wounds or maybe trying to change his clothes. And he'll pretend that he wasn't really hurt and then pretend that he wasn't waiting up for her. She'll have to act like she doesn't care and he'll have to let her.

There are lies within lies as they continue to do this dance. She doesn't have to tell him why she sent him on ahead by himself because he already knows, and he doesn't have to tell her that he only listened because he's hopelessly infatuated with her because she knows. But they never _said_ anything to each other, you know? They never said it.

Only "Let's keep moving," and, "Do what I say and we'll be fine."

As he sped toward the city, he certainly hoped she was right.

 

* * *

 

**2239 HRS, May 12, 2183**

**Watson, Skepsis System, Sigurd's Cradle**

Coming out into the city felt like passing through an airlock. The air was thick and smoggy and Shepard almost choked on it. He passed under a highway to reach the first side street and only then did he realize that he had no idea how to get where he was going. He passed a shoe shop and came upon his first street sign, which read 12th St.

Shepard walked up a block and stopped at the corner. Although he was almost there, he was still lost. He surveyed the too-yellow cabs and dark skycars across the street jockeying for position outside a towering hotel. A crowd was gathering outside a club adorned with a large flashing martini glass, everyone eager to get an early start on the nightlife. The door was blocked by a wall-like krogan, as wide as he was tall. He checked over the various people in line like he was looking at an optical illusion. But not even the krogan's massive shoulder hump could block the clobbering levels of bass that flooded out from behind him into the crisp, crowded night.

Shepard didn't want to move, but he had no idea where to go. He spent about ten minutes walking down the street before becoming too paranoid that he was traveling in the wrong direction. Up until now, he'd tried to keep a low profile, which wasn't the easiest thing to do when your blood, grime and ripped clothes had you looking like you'd just stumbled out of a post-apocalyptic future.

Shepard stopped at a corner and wiped some sweat off his forehead. The humidity here was unlike anything he'd experienced on Earth, but hopefully he wouldn't have to get used to it. As he brought his hand back down, he paused and held it out in front of his face. He was shaking. Whether it was from the exhaustion, the blood loss, or the nervousness, the tiny trembles gave him pause.

He let his hand drop and found himself staring into an alley across the street. There was a shivering lump sitting on the ground, leaning against the brick wall and nursing a cigarette through a scraggly beard. But what caught Shepard's eye was the floppy overcoat that covered him from head to toe. Shepard palmed the two credit chits in his pocket that Remy had given him and crossed the street.

The homeless man saw Shepard approaching from a distance and called out for a cigarette. Shepard shook his head and started walking down the alley. The man didn't spare him a second glance, his shaky fingers pinching the dying cigarette and ashing it. He asked for some credits instead, saying that would go a much longer way anyway.

Shepard got right next to the man before he looked up. The man's expression changed upon seeing Shepard, and he actually began to _apologize_. Shepard tried to keep from flinching. He didn't know he looked that pitiful. He shoved one of the credit chits into the man's hand, asked for his coat in exchange and got out of there as fast as possible.

The old man had given him a few cursory directions that helped Shepard find the intersection he'd been looking for a few blocks away. He leaned up against a brick wall and began to wait. His eyes felt heavy and he absentmindedly pawed for his pistol. Not being able to find it gave him a minor shot of adrenaline, but then he remembered that he already knew that. He was really losing it.

Shepard didn't know how long he waited there. It was certainly more than the ten minutes she'd originally allotted him. Whether it was the fatigue or the internal bleeding or the sense of finality, it was hard to stay awake. Eventually he pushed off the wall and stumbled toward the parking garage.

Their shuttle was easy enough to find. Remy had been correct that, for whatever reason, it was the only vehicle parked on the top floor. How she could have possibly known that remained a mystery, but he was too tired to question it.

He tried to remember what she exactly she had said about him being able to get in. Something about a DNA scanner, maybe? Shepard was about two seconds from balling up his coat and using his fist to break the glass (though he honestly doubted he had the strength) when something in the shuttle registered and the large door opened up.

Shepard took a couple of steps inside and shut the door behind him, finding himself in the larger, open cargo area marked only by a bench. To his right was the cockpit, with two pilot's chairs, and to his left was the back compartment, where he could make out several of their duffel bags stuffed behind netting.

The pain in Shepard's side flared up again. For most of the day it had settled into a dull ache that, while never outright impairing him, had never truly left. He yanked out his bag and ripped the zipper open. If he was thinking straight, he would've been impressed with himself for remembering that there was some medi-gel stuffed in there.

After slathering the gel over his stomach, Shepard let his shirt drop down and tossed the bag to the side. He sat down, intending to figure out what to do next, but just sitting down felt so good that before long he was lying down on the bench.

Shepard closed his eyes and that was the last thing he remembered.

 

* * *

 

**1834 HRS, May 13, 2183**

**Terra Nova, Asgard System, Exodus Cluster**

Shepard woke to the comforting hum of the shuttle's engines. After rubbing his eyes several times, he saw blue sky passing by outside the windows. He took a moment to be thankful that she was alright and that she hadn't left him. Slowly he got to his feet and slumped his way into the cockpit, sitting down heavily in the chair next to Remy.

She noted his appearance, but he could tell she was curious. "You feeling alright?" she said. "Have any trouble making it here on your own?"

Shepard coughed. He was sure he looked absolutely awful. "I guess I did alright. I'm still alive," he mumbled. "What about you? Mind telling me how you made it here without a scratch with an entire Alliance squad on top of you?"

She frowned. "Shepard, I don't think-"

"I know, I know," he said. "It's not important; you can tell me later." He waved her off. "I'm getting used to that."

She seemed a little annoyed that he knew what she was going to say. They flew in silence for a few minutes. Shepard had many of the same questions that he had when he woke up on that Asari transport. Where were they? Where were they headed? How did they get here?

But even after getting some rest, he was still feeling dead on his feet. And the last thing he felt like doing was fighting her over something like this. Shepard looked out the window as they passed over a large city. He looked back at Remy. She was frowning and biting her lip. Every now and then she'd give an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

"I don't understand it," she said finally, breaking his trance. "I accounted for everything. Blurred our footprints, double-checked our routes." She shook her head. "How could they have found us?"

Shepard looked at her and felt sick to his stomach. She was right. She _was_ too smart to mess up something like this. Which meant that it had to be him, but they only thing he'd done in the past 24 hours was . . . _Oh no_.

"What?" she said. She'd seen his face fall and he knew it was too late. "What is it?"

"I . . . I don't know."

Her face twisted into a scowl. "Hey, if you know something, you better tell me."

"Look, it's probably nothing-"

Before he could finish the sentence she shoved the controls forward as hard as she could. Shepard's head almost hit the ceiling as they started a nosedive down to the surface. When part of him believed they were gonna crash, she yanked back, causing the ship to jerk back to a level plane. In the same motion, she dumped the shuttle on a hill that, after a few yards, turned into a cliff.

Shepard was thankful there was a convenient place to vomit, because that's exactly what he felt like doing. He held onto the roof of the shuttle as he got out. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the cool metal, and closing his eyes to try and fight away the dizziness.

She smacked the roof and he jumped. He met her eyes and she was glaring at him. Hard.

"What happened?" she said, slow and deliberate.

Her tone was severe enough to frighten him a little, but Shepard summoned up his courage. This was his fault, after all, even though it was inadvertent. She would see that. Nothing left to do but to tell her.

"I kept thinking about you leaving and about who else I could trust. Who else I would _want_ to trust. Listen, Anderson has always been there for me. Always. I figured if I could talk to him, he could let me know what was happening on the other side." He watched her face fall into stronger stages of disbelief as he kept talking. "So . . . when we were at your apartment, I started up the omni-tool you gave me and sent him an uh, relatively anonymous message."

For a second or two nobody spoke, and he regretted not saying something else to let her know that was all he did. The tension was so much worse this way.

"You-You _bloody imbecile_!" She was shaking with rage and having a hard time getting words out. She slammed the shuttle again, this time with her fist, leaving behind a small, curved indentation in the metal. "How could you possibly think that was a good idea? The Alliance?! Why don't you just catch the first shuttle to Arcturus Station? I'm sure the blood on your hands will go a long way towards selling them on your story."

"The Alliance only wants me because the Council wants me," he mumbled. "They just don't want to look bad. At the end of the day they'd have no problem looking the other way. If I could just get a real investigation started . . . if one person would listen to me and believe me.

"I don't know, maybe beforehand you should ask them if they enjoy being nearly _killed_ on a daily basis," she snapped. Remy turned away and rubbed her brow, and he hoped that meant her anger was also pointed in the opposite direction. "Well, it's no wonder how they found us. The redirect barriers on those things were years old and I didn't get a chance to update the security protocols before we left." Her look darkened. "But even if I had, as if something like this-"

"No," he said.

"-would be okay-"

"No. I know."

"Fuck!"

She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. He tried not to let her see how surprised he was by her reaction. He'd seen her angry before, but never with him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry that we got caught, but I won't apologize for what I did. I can't. If you hadn't noticed, doing this all on our own hasn't exactly been going swimmingly so far. First we got shot at, then almost blown-up, nearly-arrested, almost blown-up again, then chased through the ghetto." He paused to take a deep breath and, after doing so, didn't feel like going on anymore. It was a honest mistake and he was tired of her trying to demonize him.

She stood very still, and when she spoke, her voice was much more even. She still wasn't looking at him. "Can I ask you something, Shepard? Do you even care if you make it out of this alive?"

Shepard frowned. "Oh, what is it that I should be doing? Crying? Begging?"

"This is unbelievable!" she said, turning on him. "You're the person being hunted, yet _I'm_ the only one who doesn't want us to end up in a torture chamber. Or worse! I wonder why that is!" She shot him a pointed look and threw her hands up. "I have nothing invested in this! Christ, John, do you really think that my name is Remy?"

Shepard's jaw dropped and her mask slipped a little. She probably hadn't intended on divulging _that_ before she dumped him. Anger bubbled up inside him, along with something else. The revelation that she didn't even give enough of a shit about him to tell him her own name was a shock of clarity, and some of the pieces started falling into place. For the first time since she picked him up, he felt like he had an actual grasp of what was going on.

"Holy shit," he said. He had to conquer the disbelief before he could get furious with her. "Your name really isn't Remy, is it?"

She shook her head and looked away. "It's Miranda. Miranda Lawson."

He balled his fist. "I told you personal shit about myself! My past, my friends. Things I've never told anyone in my entire life and you can't even tell me your real _name_?"

She at least had the decency to look a little ashamed, though the edge hadn't left her tone. "You were supposed to just be one of Jacob's idiot friends. I never thought . . . I was undercover. What do you expect?"

He was silent for a moment. "Is this all a set-up?"

She choked out a dry laugh. "What?"

"Is this a set up?" he yelled, punctuating each word.

"The only person putting us at risk here is you! Have you lost count of the number of times I've saved your life?"

"Yeah? For what purpose?" he spat. Irrational or not, he didn't care. The red was only now clearing from his vision. The question hung in the air and Shepard gripped the shuttle's door frame so hard his fingers started to hurt. "Who do you work for? Right now. I want to know."

Remy-no, _Miranda_ sighed heavily. She fixed him with a cold stare. Maybe she suspected he wasn't going to go anywhere until he found that out, which would be good because that was exactly what he was thinking. She opened her mouth once or twice before closing it. "I work for the human-survivalist group known as Cerberus," she finally said.

" _Cerberus_?" he said, somehow feeling even more shocked than he was a minute ago. "All this time I've been harbored by terrorists?"

She put her hands on her hips. "We're not terrorists, Shepard."

"Yeah, well according to the Alliance, the Council and just about every other spacefaring race, you are." He scoffed. "I can't believe this. All this time and I never knew you were with _them_."

She crossed her arms. "I never told you I wasn't."

"Halfway between the truth and a lie is still a lie, Miranda!"

How was he supposed to go back to the Alliance now? Cerberus? His head was starting to hurt.

She pursed her lips and shivered. Her eyes, normally so expressive, looked frozen over. It was dark now. Somewhere down in the city a siren blared. Shepard looked and saw the fuzzy dimness of a couple of streetlights in the distance illuminating the sides of two condemned apartment buildings. The low clouds blocked the final vestiges of sunlight and the glow from the tallest buildings faded out at least a quarter mile away. No light reached them here.

"Shepard, twelve hours ago I was calmly and coolly trying to figure out a solution to this very problem. But then something happened. That something provided us with that exhilarating romp through shanty town, and that death-defying leap from the exploding skycar. And I'm hard-pressed to see how any of it was my fault." She swept away some hair that the wind had blown in her face. "I'm not staying out here in the cold any longer. You can come with me or not. I'm not going to stand here and beg you."

She got in the shuttle and slammed the door. A moment later Shepard felt the first drops of rain on his nose and looked up, staring vacantly. The engines fired up next to him and Shepard caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. Once upon a time, the person looking back at him had been a source of strength. He'd come a long way from Earth, to the Alliance, to the top of his N7 program . . . to a better life. Anderson had said he'd be surprised if Shepard wasn't an Admiral one day. But now, this reflection, worn-out and haggard, blurred by the sliding droplets, held no answers for him at all.

Reluctantly, Shepard opened the door and got inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while to get here, but this chapter had been a long time coming. To those of you that had long-since grown tired with the fake name gimmick, it's over now. :) Oh, and I apologize for the shameless Chuck reference. It was staring me in the face the entire time I wrote the final scene and I couldn't just ignore it.
> 
> Lastly I want to thank Euphonemes for all of their help with this way-too-long chapter.


	7. Complexes

**1511 HRS, May 14, 2183**

**Terra Nova, Asgard System, Exodus Cluster**

If Shepard had known how far away this damn house was, he would've still been back on that hill, standing in the rain. The first few moments after takeoff were spent staring straight ahead, afraid that any movement would bring the discomfort back to the forefront. But it only took a few minutes after they lifted off before the silence in the cockpit became overpowering. Every now and then it would break when Miranda tapped a key on the holo-interface or shuffled who knows what because there was no way Shepard was turning his head an inch in either direction.

The planet — so sunny when they'd arrived — remained dark and ominous. Shepard could guess that they were traveling in the opposite direction of the planet's sun, turning this ten hour night cycle into twenty. After he'd counted the specks of dirt on the side window for the thirteenth time, it finally became too much. The awkwardness felt like it was choking him and keeping his mind off of her (something he'd sworn to do until they landed and had some space) would be easier without the close proximity.

As nonchalantly as possible, he got up and opened the hatch to the back of shuttle. He sat on the bench, rested his head against the window and faded in and out of consciousness.

When they finally landed, Miranda did so ungraciously. The ensuing jolt of impact rocked him back and he bumped his forehead rather hard on the glass. It was impossible to tell how much he actually slept, but it felt like nothing at all. He was still feeling the after-effects of running through that city for practically an entire day. Grumbling, Shepard stood up and wrenched the bay door open. He had to shield his eyes upon stepping outside and it took a few seconds for his vision to adjust to the brightness.

The one story house, if you could call it that, looked like the size of a nice hotel room. The actual house itself, unfortunately, was not as nice. Parts of the bamboo paneling had peeled and dropped onto the long-dead lawn, revealing the rusted cement beneath. A small carport extended off of the right side of the house, which Miranda had conspicuously chosen to not use. A pair of motorcycles that Shepard doubted still worked stood under it, resting against the house in the shade. A small dirt path from the front door led to a larger dirt path from the carport that continued for about a hundred feet before disappearing through the thin patch of palmetto trees. A few feet behind the house itself, the first traces of sand gave way to a larger, open beach. At least this place wasn't a complete dump, Shepard thought.

He went back into the shuttle, grabbed what he could, and waited for Miranda to lead him inside. On purpose, he gave Miranda a wide berth, standing a few yards away from the door as she opened it. He half-expected some form of voice identification, or a full-body scan or an organ biopsy, or whatever it was that was supposed to guard secret lairs, even pathetic looking ones. Instead, Miranda fished a thin leather band with a key tied to it out of her pocket. She held the key in her teeth, re-adjusted her bags, and then opened the door. The inside of the front door was heavily reinforced (and that should've been his first clue) but Shepard was shocked at how nice the inside was.

One long hallway stretched from the front door past the kitchen, a half-bathroom and a few small closets before opening up into the dining area, which itself connected to the living room. From the front door he could see the large glass wall on the opposite side of the house and the sliding glass doors, framed by hurricane shutters, that opened up to the beach.

One thing that struck Shepard was the total lack of inside walls. A small counter enclosed the kitchen area, separating it from the dining table that was topped with a bowl of oranges. A few feet past that were a couple of wooden beach chairs, a bookcase, a small table and a television that made up the living room. To the right of that was the bedroom, made up of a few dressers and the bed, with an enclosed bathroom in the corner. The place wasn't small; in fact it was much bigger than it looked from the outside, but it was all very . . . open. He idly wondered if that was some kind of strategic decision.

Surveying the place from his spot in the living room made him realize something. "Uh, Miranda," he called out.

She had dropped her bags somewhere and was in the kitchen. She looked up but didn't say anything.

"There's just the one bed," he said.

He thought he heard her sigh, but couldn't be sure.

"It's a big bed," she said.

It wasn't that big. Maybe a full-sized mattress and a rather small one at that. "You sure? I could always, uh . . ."

He almost said he would sleep on the couch, before remembering that there _was_ no couch.

"Shepard, just use the bloody bed," she said, pouring herself a glass of water. "If I find you asleep in one of those chairs later, I'm tipping you over."

He took a few steps into the bedroom, both to unpack and to get away from her glare. He tossed his bag on the bed and unzipped it. The next few minutes were spent laying out everything that she had deigned to provide him with, which for some reason included an extra couple of guns, two smoke grenades, two real grenades, and a flare. All of this was in addition to fresh sets of clothes and other essentials that normal people would pack. He tossed the weaponry in the drawer of the one of the bedside tables and tried not to think about it. The rest of the clothes he stored neatly in the far dresser. Subconsciously he was so tired of running, and even if this was just another pit stop on their trip, he wanted it, momentarily at least, to feel like home.

Shepard came back into the living room to see that she had laid out a meal for him on the table. The sandwiches made him realize just how hungry he was and he was grateful that at least somebody was thinking about things like that. She brought him a glass of water along with one of her own, then sat down and began eating.

"I didn't know you could cook," he said between bites. The sandwich was turkey and it tasted like heaven.

"Very funny. They were pre-packaged," she said, finishing her own sandwich. "I called ahead to have this place stocked back when we were on Illium."

The mention of Illium dampered his "I'm starving" enthusiasm. But she let the issue drop, rising from the table and depositing her dishes in the sink.

"I'm going to unpack and take a shower," she said. "You've had a hard couple of days."

"We both have."

She ignored his comment. "Use this time to relax. And don't forget to check your injuries."

He held back his "Yes, Mom" retort both because it was stupid and because their relationship hadn't exactly recovered to friendly repartee status. She passed behind him, a bag slung over her shoulder and walked further down before turning right into the bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

**1703 HRS, May 14, 2183**

**Terra Nova, Asgard System, Exodus Cluster**

Shepard spent most of the next few hours alternating between trying to get comfortable in one of the awful stiff chairs and trying to find something remotely watchable on television. Miranda had pulled out the accordion shutter, which walled off the bedroom from the living room and gave her some privacy.

After passing the third Biotiball game and yet another human news program, he was on the brink of asking her if he could use the shower just so that he'd have something to do. He was about to get up when Miranda stepped out and collapsed the shutters back into the wall. Shepard caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, but tried not to act too interested. He turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

Her outfit hadn't changed too radically, although the boots were new, her jeans were tighter and the leather jacket was shorter. He was no expert on makeup, but she still looked immaculate. Miranda ran a hand through her hair as she walked over to the ancient communicator, brushing aside her tucked pistol to slide one of the handsets into her inside jacket pocket. Shepard frowned. She looked like she was either heading to a nightclub or a mafia sit-down.

"Everything okay?" he said.

Miranda put her hands on her hips and faced him. "I'm going to meet some people. Call in some favors. Alone."

She punctuated that last part with a mini-glare. Shepard felt a little affronted. He hadn't even decided whether or not he was going to ask her that yet.

Miranda pointed to the communicator, which docked three more headsets. "If anything happens, and I mean _anything_ , you pick up one of those and call me. _Only_ me. Okay?"

Shepard was focused on the bookcase across the room, his eyes bouncing from novel to novel. _Darkness at Noon_. _Under the Volcano_. _Brave New World_ . . . . Miranda. He would've shaken his head at the absurdity if he hadn't remembered she was still staring at him, waiting for an answer. He spared her a glance and nodded curtly.

He looked out the glass doors at the waves cresting not thirty feet from him. He hadn't been to the beach yet. A few seconds later, the sound of her opening the front door spurred something in his memory.

"Miranda!" he said, quickly getting up and jogging down the hallway.

She paused and leaned back, halfway out the front door.

The question he was instinctively going to ask, which was, "When will you be back?" died on his lips. They didn't have that kind of relationship anymore, he reminded himself. He didn't know if they ever would again. So all he said was, "Uh, be careful."

"Yeah," she said. And she was gone.

Shepard shook his head. He didn't even know if he _wanted_ to have that kind of relationship with her again. What good was being friends if she was lying to him the entire time? Were they ever really friends?

He massaged his temples to clear the annoying storm of thoughts. The beach, he reminded himself. The beach.

Shepard grabbed an orange, took off his boots, changed into some shorts and then went outside. It truly was just a few steps, maybe ten or twenty feet, from the door to the first beginnings of sand. The beach itself was unmarred by tourism, the water still a sparkling green. Shepard squinted in the harsh light. The sun had just begun its descent toward the horizon, so he didn't have long to enjoy this. For some reason he really was uncomfortable with being out here unarmed in the dark, as childish as that might sound.

The sand felt strange under his feet. It had been a long time since he'd gotten a chance to relax. Or maybe it just felt like a lifetime. Not that he was on vacation right now or anything, but . . . it was something. Long ago someone must have planted the row of thick palm trees that separated the patchy grass from the sand. Evenly spaced about ten feet apart they stretched into the distance in either direction. All of them were bent at varying angles, blown back by the years of harsh ocean winds.

Shepard stepped forward and leaned against a tree, savoring the unique smell of salt and iodine. He hadn't been to a tropical place like this since he was a kid. Vancouver had beaches, sure, but it wasn't exactly the Bahamas. He glanced down the shoreline looking for perhaps another beach house, but found nothing. He was alone, and he couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not.

He chewed on an orange slice. Shepard had gotten used to being alone by now. The past few years had been so easy largely because of that fact. He'd actually been quite popular back in Vancouver, but those were just superficial, transient relationships. The desire to pursue something deeper had vanished a while ago, and he was mostly fine with that. He shrugged. It was possible he just hadn't been meeting the right people.

Jacob leaving him like he did back in Rhode Island still left a bad taste in his mouth, even to this day. Shepard tried not to blame him for it and over the years he hadn't — though, up until a few days ago, he hadn't spoken to either him or Miranda in years.

He wondered what Jacob would say if he were here right now. Probably chastise him for taking things this far; call him a lunatic for turning his life into an action vid. Shepard chuckled to himself and sat down in the sand. Okay, so maybe there were some things he missed about the time he and Jacob would spend practically every day together.

The fastidiousness was occasionally helpful when Shepard was trying to impress a girl. There was also the dispensability of his alarm clock. Jacob used to, and probably still did, get up at the same ungodly hour every morning, even on his days off. And the noise he made during his ridiculous early morning workout routine was impossible to sleep through. Shepard hummed, trying to remember.

He missed having a bowling partner. He missed having someone that actually enjoyed cooking every night. He missed using holidays as an excuse to go drinking. He missed complaining about bureaucracy and politicians. God, he even missed the stupid . . . _oranges_.

Shepard's mouth hung open and he stared at the last piece of fruit in his hand. He erupted in a fit of nervous laughter and kept going until he was out of breath. But even after he'd finished panting and calmed down, that niggling sliver of doubt still remained. No way, he thought. There was just no way.

Suddenly he felt anxious and charged all at once. This wasn't going to go away until he did something about it.

So he popped up, tossing the last piece of fruit in his mouth as he did so. Shepard clambered back toward the house at almost full speed, nearly crashing into the sliding glass door in his haste. His thumb jammed trying to pop open the exterior lock and he cursed. Maybe running through it would've been a better option. Massaging his thumb, he threw open the door, flinching at the way it slammed into the frame. He crossed the distance to the dining table in four huge steps.

Shepard pawed through each orange in the bowl, looking like a juggling act that didn't quite make it through clown college. When it was empty he inspected the bowl itself. It was dark, polished wood, no more than a foot in diameter. Carefully he ran his fingers over the inside, then the lip, looking for some kind of compartment or false bottom. He flipped it over. No designer's insignia on the bottom, no markings of any kind . . . nothing. The bowl dropped back down onto the glass table with a clang and he scratched his head.

Shepard would never proclaim himself to be Sherlock Holmes, but still. He looked around and saw the remaining half-dozen oranges strewn about the floor. He dismissed it with a laugh, before realizing he was beginning to feel that same incredulous curiosity that had come over him a few minutes ago.

He used his shirt as a pouch and gathered them all up before dumping them back in the bowl. The excitement still had his nerves afire. Every movement was haphazard and jerky. He grabbed a random fruit out of the bowl and had it halfway to his mouth before he paused.

This was stupid. And a waste of perfectly good oranges. _And_ it was precisely the type of insignificant, meaningless detail that Miranda would notice whenever she came back. Shepard instead picked them up one by one and spent a good couple of minutes trying to feel any weight differences. Eventually he realized this idea was even dumber than the last one.

Putting them back for a third time, he finally found something worth noting. A small, white oval-shaped sticker that said "Fresh" was conspicuously slapped on one near the stem. Shepard ripped it off and saw a two inch-long incision in the rind that the sticker had been hiding. Startled but satisfied, he peeled the orange carefully and headed back out to the beach.

Shepard's hands were shaking as he stumbled back to the tree. This time he sat down in front of it, facing the water, and leaned back against the wide trunk. The next minute or so was simply spent staring rather than doing anything. The anticipation of the moment felt bigger than anything he could possibly find in there. Of course, if there wasn't anything in there he would feel like a colossal fool. At that point he might turn himself in out of shame.

After nervously peeling away a few slices, he found what he was looking for. A thin data disc had been tucked into the center. Shepard frowned. What if he hadn't been the one to find this?

Shepard revealed more and more until he was able to carefully pluck it out. The disc was smaller than normal OSDs, but thick and heavy. It looked like the type meant for a datapad rather than a computer. Which was convenient, because he didn't think this place even had a computer. Miranda had packed plenty of datapads, however, which meant that, if he wanted to, he could take a look at its contents.

Shepard frowned, unsure of why he added that last conditional. Was he really scared of seeing whatever message was on this thing? Maybe he was just afraid of the consequences of his last little "connection" with the Alliance. That had backfired in ways he'd never even imagined. Maybe that's exactly what this was: another trap.

He shook his head. If Jacob knew where he was, and it certainly looked like he did, then chances are the Alliance already knew as well. And if they wanted to come and get him, they wouldn't plant a message in a bottle. They would just _do_ it.

He chewed the last of the orange and watched a blue auger shell swirl along the water line in front of the oncoming waves. A tiny crab idled in the sand, waiting for the shell to pass. Above them, gulls circled the tree to his left. Transplanting animal life was normally an unreliable process, but Terra Nova was such an old colony that some of it at least seemed to have taken hold.

In this unexpected quiet, Shepard realized that there was a part of him that didn't want to open the data, didn't want to read any more intel or see what the Alliance has to say about him. These words wouldn't change anything.

Shepard turned the small disc over in his hands a few times. Whatever it was, someone had gone through a lot of trouble delivering it here. Miranda might not want him to have correspondence of any kind, but his life was in these files and he had a right to it. And another part of him was glad that somewhere in the ridiculous confusion his life had become, he found the wherewithal and energy to locate it. Perhaps it would help him remember, help him see things clearly.

Shepard sighed. He always got himself into so much trouble whenever Miranda was away. And that was really it, wasn't it? Didn't that line of thinking mean anything? Or was he so turned around by lies and manipulation that he might as well be a Cerberus puppet?

He put his hands on his knees and stood up. He didn't know what the future held, but wherever his place was, until he got his name cleared it wasn't with the Alliance. And honestly, after what happened yesterday, it probably wasn't with Miranda either. Jacob had been a close friend once. Maybe that still meant something. Maybe this disc was a way out.

Shepard took a few steps forward, stopping at the shore line. He closed his eyes and felt the water rush over his toes for the first time. It was surprisingly cold, a welcome break from the humidity of the planet and he shivered involuntarily. He continued to turn the disk over in his hand, although it was more like a tic at this point.

After a few moments Shepard opened his eyes and gripped the disc tighter. He looked down, then out at the water. In one motion, he stepped back, bent his knees and tossed the disc as far as he could into the ocean. It landed with a hollow thunk and was swallowed up by the waves.

 

* * *

 

 

**2008 HRS, May 14, 2183**

**Terra Nova, Asgard System, Exodus Cluster**

Shepard watched the waters churn for a few more seconds before retaking his sitting position against the tree. The sky over the beach was washed-out, grey and empty. The sun beat down on his forehead, drawing a few beads of sweat and making him wish he'd been smart enough to pack sunglasses. He sat for a while and took in the sight.

For the first time in a long time, he'd made a decision purely in self-interest. He shrugged. It seemed like a natural extension from his usual self-pity and self-loathing. But he'd done it, not for the Admiral Board or his commanding officers or his friends or Spectres or, he shuddered, Cerberus. For him.

He closed his eyes and listened to the birds squawking. It was getting late, and today had felt so much longer than it actually was. Time without Miranda was easier to pass in chunks and he was basically stuck here waiting anyway.

Shepard took a deep breath and let the sound of the ocean lull him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Shepard awoke in the same position but on a very different beach. A large rock outcropping had replaced his tree, providing him with a small amount of shade. The bright blue waves were more violent than the place he'd just come from and the wet, packed sand was a much darker shade of gold.

There was also the person that just happened to be lying almost on top of him, her head on his chest, snoring softly.

Shepard tried to swallow the yelp of surprise, but was unsuccessful. He jerked, then shrugged out of her grasp and craned his head, enough to see that it was just Miranda. He grumbled. _Just Miranda_. Like that made things make any sense.

He looked around. This place reminded him of a beach he used to visit as kid. Which was amazing, because up until now, even he'd forgotten what it looked like. He frowned, trying to remember how he got here. There was the house, and then it was night, and then Miranda left . . . and now he was here.

The only dreams Shepard was used to having were nightmares, not pointless distractions like this one. He sucked in a breath, bracing for such knowledge to wake him up. When nothing happened, he exhaled, a little disappointed that it didn't work. So he tried to take stock of the situation. This wasn't so bad, he guessed. Come to think of it, any diversion from reality was perfectly fine as far as he was concerned. But that also meant that this place, Miranda . . . none of it was real.

His shuffling must have woken her up too. She braced herself with one arm and rubbed her eyes before regarding him. It didn't seem like she was too surprised at their position, and in fact after a few seconds she casually settled back down into him.

Well just because Fake Miranda was nonchalant about the whole thing didn't mean he had to be. This was all too weird, but not altogether unpleasant. More than anything it further muddled his already conflicted feelings. Yesterday he was furious with her and now they were close and intimate. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to will himself into a soft bed or into a pool of gold coins — anywhere else as long as it didn't involve some ham-handed confrontation of his "feelings." After a few seconds he opened them back up and found that, much to his disappointment, nothing had changed.

He looked down at her. Her eyes were unfocused, her fingers making little circles across his hip. She did that often, he realized: rested her eyes on him in moments of distraction, letting her mind work. Somewhat reluctantly, he brought his arm up to cradle her, his fingers feeling vestiges of tingles from the way she was leaning on him. His hand settled across her waist and he could feel the warmth of her skin through her thin, white cotton shirt.

A million thoughts raced through his head and he almost started the conversation a hundred different ways. He'd be lying if he said turning this dream into something carnal and wildly inappropriate hadn't crossed his mind. But not only would that not help his current (and apparently future) living situation, stretching plausibility that far would probably just make him wake up on the spot.

After a few more minutes, she made the decision for him.

"Why did you accept my offer?" she said.

"Huh?"

"I mean it," she said. "Why did you come with me? I was a virtual stranger to you. You got on board my shuttle not really knowing who I was or where I was taking you or what I wanted. You surely didn't need my help to get off the planet."

"I did if I didn't want it to be in chains," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Assuming the worst does not count as justification."

Shepard frowned; he didn't like being questioned by his own subconscious.

"I didn't really think about it all that much," he said. "I just did it." He shrugged. "I knew you'd be there to help me with the hard parts."

"John, the hard part is what you left behind." She stared at the horizon. "You were — _are_ — a decorated soldier. An N7. Maybe you're beginning to understand it now, but there's so much more out there beyond Alliance space. And there's certainly so much life beyond a desk on the thirteenth floor." She looked up at him. "And you could've had it. You still can. You just have to want it."

"I can't survive out there, Miranda. I can't." He grit his teeth. "I just can't."

She started to open her mouth to respond but he cut her off.

"No, you don't understand," he said. "You really have no idea. I feel like I've lived a decade these past few days. I've been to who knows how many different planets and star systems. I've lost count of the number of times I've almost died." He shook his head. "From when we first met three years ago until now — that must have felt like a lifetime for you. New directives, a new partner, tons of new missions, new sets of problems, maybe a new boss."

"No new boss," she mumbled.

"Yeah, well all that time for you passed in a blink for me." He decided to leave out that most of what he did remember passing slowly was thinking of her. Even in a dream he wasn't comfortable bringing something like that up. "When I first met you the leg on my coffee table had just cracked and the day before you showed up on Eden Prime it finally fell off and broke. That's three full years for me. And it goes by like _that_." He snapped his fingers.

She looked deep in thought again. "Yeah," she said.

"Look, my point is that I know you're not exactly the type of person that lives for tomorrow. Yeah, life might be long, but it goes by so fast. And I want to make sure that I'm still there to have some kind of future to enjoy."

That reminded him of something he'd been wanting to say to the real Miranda for a while.

"Speaking of futures," he said, "you're throwing yours away for nothing. Do you even realize what you've done? I mean, do you really? You're an intergalactic fugitive now. If they get one good look at you, your face will be in the corner of every news feed from here to the Far Rim."

She bit her lip and was silent for a few moments.

"You shouldn't just allow three years to pass by like that," she said.

"What?" Was she listening to him at all? "No, no, no. I'm in charge here. The part where we put me on the couch is over."

She poked his side. "I'm serious. If time passes by so fast, then shouldn't you be doing more with it? Something that fulfills you. Something that's fun and meaningful and not just 'emotionally satisfying.'" She made a face and put up air quotes at that last part. "If I had that opportunity — to truly live for me and not for anybody else — I would use it. I wouldn't just sit there and think about whether my stupid coffee table was broken or not. That's not how I'd want to keep track of my life."

Shepard sat back and let her words sink in. She was serious. He hadn't really been prepared for that kind of emotional wallop when he began this meaningless conversation.

It was rather annoying that even the imagined version of her still saw things in a way he couldn't, but he tried not to dismiss it just because he was still mad at her. He tried to respond a few times before realizing that he couldn't.

The tide, which in the real world had been high enough to almost tickle his feet, thrashed and flopped farther and farther away. At least Miranda seemed content with the idea that the conversation was over. She'd fulfilled her ridiculous, mystical duty, given him the fairy godmother speech and would probably disappear in a puff of smoke soon.

The more he thought about it, the more it made him angry.

"You're a coward," he said.

She gave an uncharacteristic snort. Anything to help separate this from the real world was welcome.

She picked up her head and looked at him. "This should be good."

"You always have to be in control. Of _everything_. Partners, colleagues, acquaintances . . . friends — if you even have those. Even people you're supposedly trying to help. And all I do is enable you. You manipulate people because you can't handle any kind of real relationship."

"And you?" she said. "Your retirement was a bust. You're not a soldier anymore, not even when you actually try to be one again. You're even more alone now than when I left you three years ago."

"Maybe that's because I'm on the run from the government."

She chuckled humorlessly. "You know that's not what I meant. You've convinced yourself that you're better off living this charade while trying not to hate the universe for doing this to you." She tilted her head. "You like thinking that you're doomed to lead this miserable life. Makes things easier. Means you don't have to try. Fatalism is your emotional crutch."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're an assassin. A Cerberus assassin. Forgive me if I don't take life advice from someone who kills people for a living. And to answer your original question, yeah. If you'd been honest with me from the beginning, I never would've gotten on that shuttle."

She raised a slender eyebrow. "Vilifying me for hiding unflattering truths? Sounds like you're projecting."

He flinched. "You're not supposed to know that."

A small smile crept onto her face. "Now who's being dishonest? Don't pretend like I'm lying to you any more than you're lying to me."

The sun began sinking down behind the horizon, noticeably darkening their surroundings in a matter of seconds. It felt like that moment before a thunderstorm. Everything was too calm and too serene. It felt ominous.

Miranda stretched in his arms before settling back down. She hummed, letting out a breathy sigh. Her voice faded as she talked. "Liars and killers are everywhere."

Neither of them said anything for a while. He chided himself for momentarily forgetting that this was just a fantasy. How messed up was he that _these_ were his fantasies?

They watched the ocean pull back and roll in over and over again. In the distance, the blinking light of a ship slowly crawled across the horizon. Shepard tried to relax. That was the purpose of this stupid dream, he reminded himself. Ultimately, it was all pointless, though.

Her eyes had closed, but he could tell by her breathing that she was just resting, not asleep.

"This isn't real," he said.

She yawned. "That's too bad."

"Yeah," he said. The coarse wind that had been whipping at his face began to die down. It amplified the humidity and made him realize just how cold it had suddenly become. He shivered and felt her hold him tighter. He smiled reflexively. For some reason he felt that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so messed up after all. "Yeah."

He stroked her hair and angled his head. A second later he was looking deep into her eyes, struck by how they glinted in the low light. He lost his voice and she smiled like she knew what was coming next. Miranda brought a hand up and cupped his face, running her thumb over his cheek a few times. The smell of her shampoo mixed with the sand and the salt, assaulting his senses. His eyes closed and a second later he felt her pulling his head in closer. All at once, his entire world was reduced to the softness of her lips and the thumping in his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

**223 HRS, May 15, 2183**

**Terra Nova, Asgard System, Exodus Cluster**

Shepard awoke again, panting and out of breath. He pawed at the ground where she had been, then touched his lips. After looking around at the real beach, he closed his eyes and groaned. He fell back into the tree, wincing when his head smacked against the rough bark.

That entire experience seemed much less worthwhile now that he was on the outside looking in. It was almost pitch black now. He must have slept through most of the night. The moonlight reflecting off of the water was the only way he was able to see.

That had felt too real, and Shepard couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Times like these I miss having a decent buffer. I talked about arcs a few chapters ago, and the next one safely ends this section of the story. The Shepard/Miranda solo adventure is over for the most part, and this can start feeling less like a spy novel and more like a real ME story. Next chapter brings in a few familiar characters, and we begin the long march toward the eventual happenings of ME1. Here's a show of good faith, snippets from the next chapter as proof that it actually exists:
> 
> "Jesus, you scared the shit out of — wait a minute. Have you been sitting out there watching me all night? What kind of psychopath does that?"
> 
> ::
> 
> "What do you mean you threw it in the water?"
> 
> "What do you mean what do I mean? You disappear for two years and your first contact is with a fruit? That's your top secret plan?"
> 
> ::
> 
> If it was possible, Miranda looked less pleased than she did a few hours ago. There was something else there too, behind all the anger, but, as she came to a stop in front of him, he couldn't quite place it. "He wants to see you," she said.


End file.
